Greene, PI: Case of the Dearly Departed
by Lovie247
Summary: A blurred image sparks intrigue and initiates a new case; opening a can of worms. On the surface it appears to be an open and shut case. Are things what they seem? Will the experienced investigator piece together the clues to form a complete picture? This is a multi-fic Richonne centered mystery and love story with several players. I do not own TWD. AU/No zombies.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:** Think of this as a detective/crime drama with a little twist. This is a ten-chapter story. Over the next several days I'll try to post at least one chapter per day. Consider each day between updates as a really long commercial break...lol. This first chapter lays the foundation on which this entire story is built. Please enjoy...Thank you.

* * *

 **Chapter 1 – Out of Focus**

* * *

"Rick…" she whispered his name; her voice laced with the intense pleasure that was brought out when they made love. His hands were magical in the way they could arouse every cell in her body with the slightest touch.

The only time _that_ name fell from her lips was when they were physically and intimately intertwined. She always said it quietly; spoken directly into his ear. An extra surge of blood rushed to his manhood. The one-word declaration always turned him on. He had a steely erection that became even more rigid. He increased his speed. He was so deep...so deep she could only moan.

"I love you so much baby...dammit you feel so good," his confession was hoarse and passionate.

He ran his hands down her soft skin. Her sweaty soft curves exciting him as much as they did the very first time he tasted her. His body moved slowly; each stroke measured and determined.

"Ahhh…R-Rick," she moaned as his hands sent electricity through her body. Sweat dripped onto her face from his hair. He gripped her tighter.

Iridescent light from the full moon drifted into the bedroom through a small window. He stared at her; watching the expressions of ecstasy on her face sent. He was too overcome to do anything other than kiss her neck and taste the salty sweet perspiration.

"Baby…" she wrapped her arms around him. Both of their bodies were hot and slick. Her hands slid down to his back.

"You're m-my world..." he declared, nuzzling his face into the crook of her neck; sinking deeper into the depths of her.

* * *

It was typical for most people, especially younger people, to dismiss him. He was an older man with thinning white hair, polyester pants, and a shirt that didn't generally match the outdated pants. Yes, most would just dismiss the old-school detective.

Hershel Greene stopped caring about what others thought of him when he reached age fifty. He was now seventy-one years old. What he'd forgotten about detective work could fill a book; what he remembered could fill ten. Neither up-and-coming detectives nor more seasoned detectives could match his attention to detail and natural intuition.

It was true that sometimes he forgot which level he parked his car on. Sometimes he forgot the last names of previous work colleagues. Sometimes he even forgot that he wasn't supposed to smoke his favorite cigar – which was more a case of stubbornness than it was forgetfulness. Sometimes he had aches in parts of his body that he didn't even know existed a few years ago – pain like a son-of-a-gun at times.

Despite the ever-progressing ailments brought on by aging, he knew detective work better than a room full of the best criminologists in the world.

Detective Greene retired from the Atlanta Police Department nearly ten years ago. The department called it a compassionate separation of service. The intuitive investigator called it forced retirement. His age was never mentioned during the discussions he had with his bosses. They glossed over what they were doing; wrapping it around a gold watch and lively party. The distraction didn't work. He was clear that the action was akin to being fired.

The newly retired law man spent the first year of his forced-freedom traveling. Dale, his best friend for fifty years, bought a two-room mobile home and convinced him to travel the countryside. The two retirees, along with their wives, managed to make it to thirty-two states before they were all ready to kill each other; thus ending their tour of the United States.

The next half-year was spent binge watching old television shows and daytime court dramas. He'd become a true couch potato. Were it not for his continuous arguments with the defendants on his favorite TV legal dramas, it would've been difficult to tell the difference between him and an actual potato.

After doing nothing loudly for months, both his wife and best friend convinced him to start his own agency. It didn't take much convincing. Detective work was his life. It made perfect sense. He had a natural ability to dissect clues and then assemble them into a coherent picture. Every coworker he'd ever had called it his superhero power.

The perks to having his own private investigation agency were limitless - Almost.

When he made the decision to start the _Greene Private Investigation Agency_ he took a lot into consideration – his experience, his connections and the changing times.

Hershel Greene was by no means an arrogant man. There was no consternation in his admission that times had changed. The rules of being a successful gumshoe detective had changed.

The longtime detective was honest and humble enough to recognize that he was not up to date on all the new lingo that existed. He needed associates who were good with technical surveillance; among other things. What used to take him weeks of beating the pavement to find, could now be retrieved in minutes. It was with that mindset that he decided to bring on a couple of partners.

His daughter Margaret – which no one called her but him – had gotten her Bachelor's Degree in Journalism and her Master's Degree in Criminology. Like many millennials she was unsure of what direction she wanted to go. She found herself in the same career quagmire that many college graduates find themselves in.

Maggie had, however, inherited her father's abilities to spot BS from a mile away. As a kid she was the one who pointed out the secrets behind the magician's tricks or the punchline before the comedian could reveal it. The backlash from her obnoxiousness was that she became the kid no one wanted at their birthday party.

As an adult, she knew her way around social media and microcomputer manipulation in a way that would make both Steve Jobs and Mark Zuckerberg proud. Hershel convinced her to work with him until she decided what she wanted to do. That was eight years ago.

The third and final member of the agency was Noah Horvath, Dale's genius grandson. The young man was plucked out of college by the FBI at the ripe-old-age of fifteen. He assisted them with computer mapping, creating new algorithms that were unbreakable, and hacking into the networks of some of the government's biggest adversaries. His work alone led to the imprisonment of hundreds.

Noah's proudest accomplishment was helping the agency dissolve a few of the biggest human trafficking rings in the country. When he turned twenty-one years old he quit the agency. His explanation for the drastic move was that he wanted to just 'max and relax' for a while. He agreed to work with the Greene's on a part-time basis when he wasn't chillin.'

Over the past few years the _Greene Private Investigation Agency_ had become a force to be reckoned with in the industry.

The agency worked with not just the police department and surrounding sheriff's departments, they also worked with major corporations throughout the country; locating not just people but missing items such as bank accounts and jewelry.

The _Greene Agency_ sat in the very eclectic downtown Atlanta area.

Inside their spacious office were two inner offices. The large common outer office had a large oak reception desk and two antique style chairs picked out by Mrs. Greene. She insisted that the office needed to feel warm and welcoming. Hershel in turn insisted that every detective should have a brown Naugahyde couch. The worn piece of furniture sat proudly amongst its more fashionable and upscale brethren in the middle of the office.

The older Greene had a very utilitarian design for his personal office. A simple metal desk, file cabinet, and two not so comfortable chairs for clients made up the décor of the room. He refused to allow his wife to insert her 'girly' style into his private space.

Maggie was more than fine with her step-mother's decorating flair. Her private office had an overly embellished look replete with hydrangea plants, an overstuffed dark blue couch and colorful portraits on the wall.

When Hershel's daughter Beth was not at school, generally during the summer months, she would handle the receptionist duties. The rest of the year Hershel and Maggie tended to rely on _Talent Tree_. It was a company where businesses could get temporary help.

The Agency had just finished one of their biggest cases. It was a misappropriation of funds case. A top executive from a Fortune 500 Company had stolen over five million dollars. Though under indictment, the man had skipped bail and was on the run. The skilled sleuth with Blood Hound like abilities followed the trail of bread crumbs. It took him less than two weeks to locate the physical whereabouts of the white-collar criminal. Maggie and Noah were, in turn, able to locate the hidden bank account in the Caymans. It was a major win for _The Greene Agency_.

* * *

Beth was filing the last bits of information on the monumental case when she heard the door open. She turned around to see a thin woman with dark shoulder-length hair standing there nervously clutching her purse.

Beth groaned internally at the thought of yet another person coming in to hire her father and sister. The Mercantile case had just ended, and she really needed a break. Thinking about spending time at the beach with her friends had put a smile on her face for the past couple of hours. The goal was to get through the mornings tedious chores with as little stress as possible.

Beth walked back to her desk and politely smiled at the newcomer.

"May I help you?" The youngest member of the Greene family asked.

The apprehensive woman looked around the office, clearly unsure as to whether she wanted to be there. She hesitated before answering.

"Is Mr. Greene available?" She reticently inquired.

"Was he expecting you?" Beth asked the question, though she already knew the answer. Among other things, her job entailed setting up the daily calendar for both Maggie and Hershel. The lead investigator had no one on the schedule for the day.

"No, um, I don't have an appointment...but I would like to speak with him...if he has some time," she made no attempt to hide her crestfallen expression.

Beth took a seat at her desk. The two offices behind her were presently empty. Neither her dad nor sister had made it to the office yet. She was hoping that both of her bosses would take the morning off after the successful completion of the case that garnered them so much notoriety. There was a lot of filing that she wanted to do, and she wanted to do it in peace.

"He actually hasn't gotten to the office yet, so if you'd like to leave your name and number...and what this is regarding, I can give him the message," she said.

The woman stood looking around the brightly lit office. It was much nicer than your average run-of-the-mill private detective office. She should. This was the third one she'd gone to. She lived in North Carolina and she'd already been to one detective there and another in Jacksonville; which is where the new man in her life lives.

She read an article about the Greene's on the Internet. They seemed like the perfect agency for what she needed. Hershel Greene reminded her of Barnaby Jones; she grew up watching old episodes of the dogged private eye. The fact that he lived in Atlanta was a bonus.

"Do you have any idea what time he'll be in?" She asked the friendly young blonde.

"Not really. It could be anytime to be honest with you."

The young woman watched the wary visitor. Beth was able to tell from her body language that she was tired and stressed. Much like her father and sister, she had an innate ability to see beyond prepared facial expressions and polite façades.

When the unscheduled guest did not respond Beth asked, "Would you like some water? I know it's pretty hot out there."

"Yes…thank you," the woman responded with a forced smile, "Is it okay if I have a seat?" She asked stepping further into the office and glancing ever so cautiously at the brown leather-like couch, "...It's just that I've been driving for the last few hours and I'm really tired."

"Oh, sure. Please have a seat and I'll grab you a bottle of water," Beth's southern hospitality was on full display.

The young Ms. Greene walked into Maggie's office where they kept a small refrigerator. She retrieved a bottle of water for the yet to be named visitor. The woman was rummaging through her large purse when Beth returned with the bottle. She looked up when the saw the young blonde approach with the water.

"Thank you so much," the unexpected visitor said while taking the bottle from the young receptionists' hand.

Just as the thin brunette twisted off the top of her water bottle and began to drink, the door to the office opened. In strolled Hershel Greene. Before he could greet his daughter he immediately noticed the visitor.

"Mornin' Beth," his smile was welcoming as he greeted his daughter and part-time employee. He strolled further into the room and glanced towards the visitor, "Who do we have here," he asked walking closer.

"Hey daddy," Beth greeted. The woman stood and stepped closer to the older man whom she'd driven several miles to see.

"She's here to see you and..." the young receptionist turned, realizing that she never properly introduced herself, "...I'm sorry I never got your name."

"I'm Lori Grimes," she said offering her hand to the older gentleman, "I know I don't have an appointment...I was just hoping that you could give me a moment of your time." She said, her eyes glancing around the office almost as if she was expecting someone else to show up.

"Well Mrs. Grimes, if you could give me one moment to get settled, I'd be happy to meet with you."

The instant release of nerves in the body language of the visitor was unmistakable.

Hershel walked into his office, sat his briefcase down, and poured himself a cup of coffee. Beth always had the coffee ready for him no matter what time he was due to arrive; even if she had no clue what time he was going to show up.

He walked back out to the reception area and invited Mrs. Grimes to follow him in.

"So, how can I help you ma'am?" He asked once they'd both taken a seat.

The anxious visitor didn't speak right away. He watched as she gathered her thoughts. She adjusted and readjusted herself in the uncomfortable chair. It didn't require his skills as a decorated retired detective to see that she was apprehensive.

"Um, Mr. Greene, I'm here because I was hoping that you could help me."

She had a thick manila folder in her hands. Whatever she needed obviously had something to do with the folder. She patted the thick file continuously while gathering her thoughts; holding it between her thumb and index fingers so tight that her cream-colored fingers were red and purple from the stress she was putting on them.

"Almost two years ago," she began after taking a deep breath, "my husband was…killed in a car accident. As you can imagine…it's been a difficult couple of years," her tight squeeze of the water bottle in her left hand caused a crunching sound of plastic to fill the room.

"...But, about a month ago, I saw something online. At first I thought I was seeing a ghost but then I looked closer...I knew without a doubt that the picture I saw was of my husband." She stopped and looked into the eyes of the seasoned detective, expecting to see the immediate dismissal. It was an expression that she'd seen on the face of everyone. Detective Greene's expression remained unchanged.

He didn't speak; offering a gentle smile and nod for her to continue.

"...I've gone to two other detectives and everybody just assumes that I'm crazy or that the person in the photo just looks like my husband," she paused, "but I can assure you Mr. Greene that it _is_ him."

She lifted the folder from her lap and handed it to the detective.

"When you open that you'll see the picture that I saw online. The picture next to it is what my husband looked like. He took that picture about a year before the accident."

Hershel reached over, taking the folder from the determined woman. He opened it and saw that there were indeed two photos. One was of a man in a sheriff's uniform with dark hair, blue eyes, and what could only be considered as classically handsome features. The other photo was somewhat blurred of a man with a beard, dark hair, and features that could not clearly be made out. He took a moment to review both photos before looking back at the anxious woman.

"You believe this is your husband in the photo?" He asked, looking up from the photos to the eager brown eyes before him.

"Yes, Mr. Greene. That _is_ my husband. I was married to Rick for seven years and I know what he looks like."

Hershel didn't respond. He sat the photos to the side and began to look through the papers that made up the rest of the dossier.

"My husband was a part of the King County Sheriff's Department for nearly ten years. It took some doing but I was able to get a friend of mine to give me all the reports regarding my husband's accident...and the medical report. That's what's in the folder." She informed him as he perused the information.

She nervously drank her water while the older man read.

"You say you've already been to a couple of other detectives?" He said in question–statement form.

"Yes," she said, staring at the thinning hair on top of his head; his eyes were focused down on the paperwork in front of him. She sat silently and watched him read.

"Mrs. Grimes...from what I can see, all of this looks very thorough; everything from the witnesses to the medical examiner's report. There doesn't seem to be much question that your husband was the person in the car. And the woman that was in the car with him," he paused, thumbing through the information, "Mrs. Michonne Anthony. Her report looks pretty thorough as well."

He looked up into the woman's eyes, "I'm actually surprised you were able to get _her_ medical report."

She shook her head putting her hand to her temple and rubbing it, "Like I said...I have a friend and I was able to get everything that was involved with the accident."

He kept his eyes on the paper flipping through the different sheets. The small nod of his head was his only acknowledgment of her words.

"I know what all of that says," She was undeterred, "but I know that's my husband in that photo...he can't be dead and alive at the same time."

He continued to review the reports without responding. They sat in silence. The only sounds in the room was the rustling of paper and the humming air conditioner.

"Were you able to reach out to the person who took the picture? How recent is it?" He asked.

"Yes, I did..." she replied animatedly. In that one question he was already asking more than the other private detectives did. They discounted her almost instantly. They treated her as if she was no more than a silly woman guilty of wishful thinking.

"...the woman messaged me that she took the picture when she was on vacation in California. That was a month ago."

"Hmm," he responded, not looking up. She watched him.

After a brief discussion, Hershel informed the widow that he would look over the reports she'd given him and contact her the following day. He wouldn't officially take the case until he'd taken the opportunity to dissect what he'd been given.

Her parents still lived in the area. He would contact her at her family's home within the next few days.

"I'll give you a call before the end of the week and let you know if we're gonna take the case," he'd informed her.

Hershel was deeply immersed in the paperwork surrounding the case when Maggie entered the office.

"Hey daddy," Maggie greeted.

"Hey baby girl," he said. Paper was spread across his desk and his notepad had scribbles all over it.

"Judging by what you have on your desk, I take it we have a new client." She said, taking the seat directly in front of his desk, the seat that had been vacated by Lori Grimes three hours earlier.

"Don't know yet," he said as he continually made notes on his overused pad.

"Give me the skinny on it daddy," she said reaching for some of his discarded notes and the previously scrutinized reports.

"Mrs. Grimes saw a photo online," he pointed to the paper on the desk, "she believes very strongly that it's her husband. A husband who was pronounced dead nearly two years ago."

The insightful young woman sat back in her chair and listened as her mentor read through the reports. This was their normal routine. They talked through current cases; taking apart all the evidence. They determined whether an actual case exists.

* * *

On March 15, 2016, while driving along Interstate 285, just outside of Atlanta, Georgia; Deputy Richard Grimes came across a black Lexus sports coupe on the side of the road with its hazard lights on.

The driver, who was later identified as Michonne Anthony, was waiting for roadside assistance. Mrs. Anthony had contacted her husband to let him know that she was waiting for a tow truck.

Upon seeing the stranded driver, Deputy Grimes offered her a ride to the closest gas station; where she could wait for her vehicle. He radioed the station, notifying the dispatcher that he would be driving Mrs. Anthony to a nearby gas station/garage which was 4.5 miles away.

Sheriff's Deputy Richard Grimes also contacted the Road Assistance operator that Mrs. Anthony left the car keys under the vehicle; for them to deliver it to the garage. That was the last contact anyone at the station had with the deputy. There were no calls from either of their phones after leaving the disabled foreign car on the side of the road.

The next report came from the driver of a big rig, Merle Deets. In the report, Mr. Deets stated that while driving along the highway, an animal, he assumed was a deer, crossed his path. He swerved slightly to avoid hitting the animal; momentarily ending up in the lane of an oncoming vehicle. That vehicle was Deputy Grimes' squad car.

The squad car veered towards the shoulder of the small road and went over the embankment. Mr. Deets indicated that he stopped the truck and got to the edge in time to see the vehicle become engulfed in flames. He stated that he saw the two individuals, but it did not appear that they got out.

Their bodies were removed from the vehicle later.

Sheriff's Deputy Shane Walsh, who was also a longtime friend of Deputy Grimes, identified his body at the scene. The identification was based on a slightly charred shoulder tattoo. The victims were otherwise visually unidentifiable.

Both bodies were taken to the town's coroner's office. The medical examiner on staff at the time was Doctor Glenn Rhee. The report stated that both bodies were burned beyond any type of facial recognition or identification.

Dental records were reviewed by the on call Forensic Odonatologist, Carol Peletier. The report confirmed that the victims in the car were - without question - Deputy Richard Grimes and Mrs. Michonne Anthony.

* * *

Maggie listened intently to her father summarize the reports.

The skilled and detail-oriented investigator never gave an opinion while he broke down the facts of a case; dissecting the information in front of him only.

"This seems pretty open and shut to me," Maggie said. She looked at her father and could tell that something was off. The wheels were turning.

"What is it daddy? What are your Spidey senses tellin' you?"

"What's the most important part of any investigation?" He asked, glancing back down at the papers in his hands.

The younger investigator sighed, giving him the once over with a forced grin, "Formulating the _right_ question is more important than the answer." She used her most monotone voice. It was his favorite saying; one that she'd heard many times before.

"That's right. I'm not sure but something just feels off to me. I need to figure out the right questions," he said, making notes on his weathered pad.

There was no mistaking a Hershel Greene hunch. He would need to do what he always did - shake all the trees until something fell out.

* * *

A/N: Thank you for joining me for this short journey. Please let me know what you think. See ya' tomorrow. Blessings :-)


	2. Chapter 2 - Side of the Road

**Chapter 2 – Side of the Road**

* * *

"There's definitely no moon glow tonight," she gazed around the desolate landscape as she drove the darkly lit road; smiling at her own vocal observation.

The night was unusually dark for this time of year. Every star in the sky seemed to be hiding their incandescent presence. The moon even seemed to have taken the night off. Every good teen horror slasher film started with a night that looked just like this.

The case she was working on was pretty cut and dry. Her client, though guilty of using incredibly poor judgment, was most definitely not guilty of attempted murder. She proved his innocence, and tonight she wanted to celebrate. Sasha couldn't meet her, so she decided to get a drink by herself once she pulled into Atlanta.

Mike was of course out of town. It was the norm for the past two years. He was running for a congressional seat; he was either besieged by well-wishers and handler's or running around the country raising funds for his campaign. She would join him on the road when she was able, however, this last case was so time-consuming that lately she needed to stay close to home.

"Wow…it's so dark around here," she mumbled.

The drive from King County to Atlanta didn't usually take more than an hour. A few miles back she'd exited the interstate. She was not a novice to this road. Anytime the highway seemed too congested, she would use this fairly unknown 'shortcut.'

Something was wrong. Her foot was pressed down on the gas pedal; practically to the floor, and the car was still slowing down. It happened to her in college. The car was out of gas. Her gas gauge said half full, _that can't be right_. She had driven too far to still have half a tank of gas.

The Recall Notice that came more than four months ago for her car came to mind, _I can't believe I forgot to get that taken care of._ There was a possibility that it was something else; which was neither here nor there at this point.

"Come on baby, just a little further," she said, tapping the steering wheel as if that would magically make the car go. She looked around as her sporty car came to stop, _there is nothing around here._

The frustrated attorney steered to the side of the road. It was the true epitome of a country road. She shouted out her favorite and most overused expletive..." _Shit_ ," while reaching for her phone; realization hit that this was probably one of the many dead zones for phone reception along this road.

"Getting off the highway was probably a really stupid thing to do," she informed the dark car

She picked up the phone which looked as if it was working and scrolled to _Road Assistance_ in her contacts. Mike had insisted that she keep the number in her phone. She tapped the number and watched as it said 'calling.' About fifteen seconds of searching, the dreaded 'no service' words appeared.

"What do I do now?" She asked herself, and the empty car. The road was more deserted than she'd ever seen it. There hadn't been another car in the vicinity for over three miles. Her only hope was that someone would come by...eventually.

* * *

It had been a long day. Doing these kinds of turn around trips was no longer a part of his regular duties. Deputies with less seniority had the 'doody duty' as everyone in the department called the detainee transport trips to Atlanta.

Rick volunteered to do the less than desirable assignment; someone had to. Tom was out ill and the department was not only short staffed, it was overrun with people being held for committing asinine offenses.

He was heading back to King County, having dropped off the belligerent detainee.

 _Guess this is the drawback of being responsible,_ he groaned at the thought. Everyone at the station looked to Deputy Grimes to be responsible. He was their in-house 'officer friendly.' Most times that simply meant they took advantage of his affable nature at every turn. _"The go to doormat,"_ is what Shane called it.

"Nice guys finish last, Rick," he said to himself.

He generally took this relatively unknown road on the drive back from Atlanta.

As much as he wasn't thrilled about the drive, he loved the peace and quiet. Lately he did not have much of that at work. It was hard to remember the last time the station was so busy. Busy was actually an understatement.

He was in contention for a promotion to Desk Sergeant. The position was only one step below the coveted Sheriff's job that most of the deputies strived towards. He was all but a shoe in.

The stress at home was nearly equal to the stress at work. After seven years of marriage he and his wife had decided to finally have children.

The simple act of having sex was not enough to achieve their goal of parenthood. They'd been trying for a year. Several months ago they made the decision to go down the in-vitro fertilization route. So far it had not worked. Time at home was stressful, _I'll stop at Daryl's for a quick drink before goin' home,_ he thought, before turning the radio on to drown out the eerie silence of the night.

He was singing along with one of his favorite George Jones songs, on his favorite CD, when he saw the universal sign of a driver in distress...flashing lights.

The road was practically deserted. Even if he had not been a man of the law he would've stopped to help the driver. There's no telling how long they would be sitting there.

The deputy pulled up behind the vehicle and turned off his engine. Upon exiting his squad car he cautiously approached the sporty black vehicle. There was a woman in the driver seat. It didn't appear that anyone else was in the vehicle.

Michonne saw him approaching her car. Her immediate elation was quickly overwritten by suspicion. It wasn't just her current cases, but also the recent events in the country that gave her a true sense of unease.

Some officers of the law had not been the beacons of hope, or protectors of the down-trodden that they should've been. Her less affluent clients generally got the short end of the stick when it came to civility that others in society took for granted.

Her personal interaction with police had been spotty at best, _there's good and bad in every profession_ , she reminded herself, _A dark road in the middle of nowhere is probably not the best place to test that theory though,_ the thought causing a partial frown _._

There was every reason to be suspicious. She took a deep breath and decided that most people are good. Whoever this officer was, he'd be one of the good ones.

 _Get it together Michonne, this is a good thing,_ she thought, while through her peripheral she could see him standing there. He had on a sheriff's outfit. He was lean and muscular with the standard police officer haircut.

He lightly tapped the window with his flashlight. She looked in his direction. Nervousness was written all over her face. She was a black woman - dark complexion with long dreadlocks. Her large brown eyes held a combination of suspicion and nervousness.

It was the smile he had on his face that put her at ease. She let out the breath she'd been holding and then rolled the window down.

"Looks like you're havin' some car trouble," he said, leaning slightly over to look at her face.

"Yes...I'm pretty sure I ran out of gas and..." she said, picking up her phone and shaking her head,"...there's no phone service around here. When it rains it pours," she chuckled.

He laughed as well, "Sounds that way."

"I got a notice from the dealership a few months ago about a faulty gas gauge; guess I've been so busy I forgot to take the car in," she grimaced at the thought of her negligence; her feelings of being inept showing on her face.

"It's really no problem. Happens to the best of us. I can give you a ride to the gas station a few miles ahead if you'd like," he offered.

His kind smile was at odds with nearly every notion she had about law enforcement officers in that area. He leaned further into the window during their brief conversation; the gentlest blue eyes that she'd ever seen washed over her.

* * *

Being a detective for as long as Hershel Greene had, he'd learned to trust certain feelings. There was something that he couldn't put his finger on, but he had to go with his gut.

After reviewing all the evidence, it was clear that Mrs. Grimes was probably just wishful thinking that her husband was still alive. However, what was clear to most, was often times murky for the seasoned detective. Everything added up. But that was the problem. Everything added up and fit together just a little too nicely. He had three sheets in his notepad dedicated to this case. There were question marks on each sheet; nearly a dozen question marks in all. He had also highlighted the names of a few people that he wanted to question – unofficially.

After contacting Lori Grimes and informing her that he would dedicate a few days to the case before determining whether or not there was any merit to her assumptions, he decided the first place to start would be the sheriff's station.

Maggie contacted Deputy Shane Walsh and set up a meeting.

The retired officer watched as the younger law man with the self-assured swagger approached. Shane Walsh was around 5' 11" tall. He had a muscular build; undoubtedly from hours at the local gym and the department weight room. His sun-kissed face was clean shaven, his dark hair was crew cut, and his close-set eyes dark.

The deputies nose flared ever-so-slightly as their eyes met; he indiscernibly sized up the retiree.

Hershel was just over 6'; though based on his last physical he'd lost an inch. His height had always been an unspoken issue for many of his police brethren. There was, often times, an unspoken challenge – an unconscious animosity. _You think you're better than me?_

The kindness embedded in his eyes and the gentleness of his smile were as much a part of his nature as they were a part of his everyday toolbox; soothing egos of his colleagues and putting suspects at ease.

Yes, he'd known men like Deputy Shane Walsh his entire career. _Let him lead Hershel. You'll never get anywhere if you don't. More flies with honey than vinegar_. He went to his unseen toolbox and pulled out his softest smile.

"I appreciate you meeting with me Deputy," Private Investigator Greene said as they walked into the small coffee shop in the heart of King County, Georgia. It was still early in the day. They had yet to feel the brunt of the days expected high temperature.

"It's not a problem," Shane responded. The two men ordered their coffee at the counter and then took a seat at one of the vacant tables.

"So exactly what is this about, Mr. Greene?" The deputy asked.

"I believe my associate informed you over the phone...Mrs. Grimes has expressed an interest in hiring our agency to look into the possibility that her husband is still alive."

The deputy lightly shook his head and frowned, "Yeah your associate did tell me that. I was hopin' that she was somehow mistaken. It's kinda upsettin' to hear. I cared very much for Rick. I care very much for Lori too…though I haven't seen her in a while..." He took a sip of his water before continuing.

 _"Shane, I can't believe you can be so stupid, and blind. You and Rick knew each other since you were practically kids. If anybody can look at that picture and see that it's him it should be you!"_

 _"Lori..." he attempted to calm her down._

 _"That is definitely Rick in the picture," she loudly insisted._

 _"I know it's hard to accept, but you have to move on with your life. Rick is gone."_

 _"What if he got out of that accident...if something happened...maybe he's got amnesia or something..."_

 _"Do you hear yourself?" He stopped her, groaning into the phone, "I mean can you hear how crazy you sound? It's been nearly two years..."_

 _"I know how long it's been Shane! You don't have to tell me. I live with it every day."_

 _"Look, I'm sorry Lori. I 'm not try'na make you feel worse," he attempted to soften his tone, "from what your mama told me it sounds like you started seeing somebody. That's a good thing."_

 _Lori was silent. Phil really was a truly nice man. She was happy that they were moving beyond just a simple platonic relationship. But that wasn't the point was it?_

 _"Yes, he is a nice man, and I'm happy to have him in my life. That doesn't change the fact that Rick is the person in that photo."_

The detective watched him closely.

"...I'm just sorry to hear that Lori hasn't been able to accept the truth...that she's seeing things. She did call me about the photo a couple of months ago when she first saw it on Twitter. _Twitter_ of all things," he chuckled, "and I did see the photo, but I can assure you, it's not Rick." He looked away from Mr. Greene's piercing eyes and watched a few customers walk into the restaurant.

"...I saw Rick at the accident scene and...as much as it hurt me then…and it still hurts me now, to say it," he took a deep breath and stumbled over his remaining words, "my brother and best friend died that day." He finished the remainder of his water.

"I don't know how much money Lori's payin' you but I think it's a damn shame for you to take any money from her. It's takin' advantage of a widow...that ain't right..."

He squinted his eyes and looked into the pale blue eyes of the older man and realized that his expression had not changed.

Shane continued, "...We did a detailed investigation of the accident. We even had officers pan out into the woods to find the deer that Merle Deets said he avoided hittin'. Found a wounded deer not far from the scene. Crime scene investigators were there reviewing the skid marks, the distance from the road to the cliff, the vehicles combustion rate... everythang was conducted above board. I told Lori all of this...I showed her the reports," he frowned, arching one eyebrow, "...and yet she looks at some fuzzy ass picture and tells me that it's Rick."

As a consummate interpreter of human behavior, Hershel Greene watched Shane's body language very closely. The man went from calm, to frustrated, to angry, and then back to calm. There was nothing in his behavior that screamed dishonesty. Hershel was pretty sure that even if the deputy took a lie detector he'd undoubtedly pass it.

"I appreciate your candor Deputy," Hershel said, glancing at his notes, "My only remaining question is regarding Mrs. Anthony. I've read the reports and it doesn't appear that she and Deputy Grimes had any connection with each other prior to meeting on that night. Is that the case?"

"Yes, that's _absolutely_ the case!" Shane stated without hesitation, his voice slightly raised, "I knew Rick our entire adult lives and I can sure as _shit_ say that he never met her before. If you're insinuatin' that he was that type'a man...you're way off guard. That's not Rick. A damn boy scout…one woman man." He glared at the senior.

That was it; the lightbulb. That singular answer was when Hershel saw an indication of untruth. He made a mental note and stored it away for future reference.

"There was no offense meant," he said to the younger man, "I just wanna fill in a few holes...piece a few things together."

Shane softened his expression and his lips turned up into what Hershel's mama always called 'a shit eatin' grin,' "Guess I'm not sure exactly what holes you're try'na fill in…but any money you took from Lori ain't nothin' more than robbery." His expression would never lead one to believe that he just all but called the older man a thief. It was an expression that certainly belied his words.

"I can appreciate your concern in regards to Mrs. Grimes. Just so you know, we haven't taken any money from her. We're just lookin' into this right now. If we find that there's anything to it, then we'll look to her for compensation."

Shane sipped his coffee without responding. The remainder of the meeting was less contentious but otherwise uninformative for Hershel. He knew that he'd gotten all he would get from the deputy. They walked to their respective vehicles, cordially saying goodbye.

The heat was picking up for the day. Hershel sat in his car outside of the small coffee shop where he met the deputy and reviewed his notes. He hadn't quite made the decision as to whether or not this case warranted pursuit. A few untruths and a hot headed deputy didn't mean this case had any merit.

"Hello, Margaret," the reticent detective started the car and took a deep breath as the cool air began to circulate, "I need you to check out something for me," he said.

"So let me guess," Maggie said before he could finish his request, "we're takin' the case. And that's not a question daddy, it's a statement."

"Not sayin' that for sure yet young lady," he responded with his most noncommittal tone, "but there are a few questions that I have."

"Shoot," she said.

"See if you can use that impressive brain of yours to get some information on Deputy Shane Walsh. You may need Noah's computer skills...if he's not chilling out today..."

"It's chillin' daddy," she laughed, walking into her office.

"Okay little girl," he was not amused by her mocking tone, "Just find out what Walsh's work schedule was leading up to the Grimes/Anthony accident...and what it was after. It's just a hunch..."

"You gonna tell me what your hunch is?" She asked.

"Not just yet...it's just a thought I have...probably doesn't mean anything. I just need to make sure we've been thorough..." he said, backing out of the parking space.

"...Also, I wanna set up a meeting with the forensics dentist Carol Peletier..."

"I already saw that one coming...I contacted her office. She's able to meet with you tomorrow," the young woman smiled to herself at her ability to stay a couple of steps ahead of the seasoned private investigator.

"That's why you're one of my two favorite daughters," he laughed.

* * *

She put her hesitation to the side when he offered to drive her to the combination gas station-garage-bar a few miles ahead. It was well earned consternation. Given her recent case regarding police brutality, it only made sense that she was a little nervous about getting into his vehicle. His kind eyes made her comfortable enough to open her door and his warm tone and inflection made her comfortable enough to relax once she was in his car.

The awkwardness residing in the squad car when he initially pulled away from her disabled vehicle and got back onto the nondescript road, slowly began to dissipate.

"I really do appreciate the ride," Michonne informed him.

"Absolutely," he responded, peripherally watching her, "I couldn't very well leave a lady on the side of the road," he chuckled.

"I'm just grateful...there's no telling how long it would've taken for someone to come by."

"Yeah, it is an eerily quiet night tonight. Usually I would've been home by now but I had to transport someone into the city," he disclosed.

She smiled politely and nodded her head.

Silence again took over. The two strangers began to engage in a cordial conversation. There was not much depth to the conversation; it was mainly centered around the recent heat wave, how dark it was that evening, and her self-deprecating words at not following up on getting the gas gauge fixed.

Rick pulled into the _Dix Tri Fecta_ parking lot and instantly noticed that there were no cars. The light was on by the gas pumps but there were no customers.

Michonne on the other hand noticed that the business was reminiscent of the Bates Motel, _Only not nearly as nice_ , she smiled to herself, _This place is straight out of an Alfred Hitchcock movie._

He noticed that the attached garage and bar were also closed, "I'm not sure what's goin' on," he said as he turned off the engine, "Daryl is usually open all night."

"Let me just go and see what's goin' on," he informed her.

"Uh, okay, thank you," she said, smiling at how kind he was turning out to be.

She watched as he exited the vehicle and strolled towards the door...

"Damn, that is one bow-legged man," she said quietly and then giggled, "who would've thought bow-leggedness could be so...stop it Michonne," she looked down at her phone.

He stood for a moment reading the sign on the door. A few seconds later he turned and walked back towards his official vehicle.

"Looks like Daryl had an emergency..." he said with an apologetic grin, as he took his seat and closed the car door, "...the sign says that he should be back in an hour. Sorry to say, the pumps are locked up too."

"Oh," she said, thinking quickly, "I just need to call my friend Sasha and let her know where I am."

"Yeah," he said before chuckling to himself. He ran his hand over his clean-shaven face before turning to her, "Unfortunately, this whole area has horrible cell phone reception. I can't even get reception on my car radio," he pointed to the temporarily useless apparatus.

"This night just keeps getting better and better," she said sarcastically.

"There's another gas station some ways down the road if you want to try that one. I can't guarantee that they'll be there though," he informed her.

"I feel bad involving you in this unplanned road trip," she laughed.

"It _is_ the moto of the sheriff's department to protect and serve. Tonight I consider it my pleasure to both protect and serve," he said, watching her shift in the seat; clearly not happy about her current predicament.

"I'm okay with waiting here. The place seems pretty well lit..." she told him while glancing at the lights illuminating the area surrounding the gas pumps. The bar and garage were as dark as the night itself.

The deserted business did not bode well for her confidence that she wouldn't be murdered by someone in a hockey mask.

"...I imagine you have much more important things to do than babysit me," she smiled.

"Protect and serve, Mrs. Anthony," he smiled and tapped the badge on his chest, "leaving you here alone in the middle of the night wouldn't be either...now would it?" He turned his full body towards her and grinned.

"Thank you. I really appreciate this..." she glanced at his hand, noticing his silver wedding band, "...I'm sorry for pulling you away from your family."

"There's no thanks necessary," his eyes gently squinting as he smiled, "the only thing waiting for me at home is a frozen dinner and television reruns," he said before noticing her eyes pass by his ring finger...

"My wife is at a retreat for the week," he added, "so you're savin' me from a dark house."

"Okay...well, I still appreciate your time," she said, opening her purse and fumbling around for a piece of candy.

Silence again overtook the car. Rick reached for the newly installed state of the art radio. He tapped the knob. The husky voice of George Jones blared through the speakers.

She jumped - startled by the instantaneous booming melody.

He quickly reached over and turned the volume completely down, "I am _so_ sorry," he said. His face turning slightly red from embarrassment.

She snickered, more to herself than anything else. He found her unguarded mirth to be infectious. They both began carelessly laughing at themselves.

The joy underlining her laugh was one of the sweetest sounds he'd ever heard. She chuckled a few times during their ride to the deserted gas station, but she had not truly laughed. He couldn't remember the last time he heard something so beautiful.

"I see you're a fan of the musical stylings of George Jones," she made an educated guess. While still laughing.

"Yes I am," he said, not quite as appalled by his mistake any longer, "sorry about that. I forgot that I had the volume turned up so high."

The volume debacle led to a conversation that started with music and landed on their chosen professions.

Rick was fascinated by her tenacity when it came to defending those who couldn't afford a decent attorney. It was her way of giving back. She had spent years as a corporate attorney before deciding to do pro bono work when the opportunity presented itself.

He found himself needing to adjust his thoughts in regards to lawyers. The dedicated deputy didn't have much respect for most of the attorneys he'd crossed paths with. The attorneys for the defendants seemed to be nothing more than scumbags trying to get off other scumbags. The attorneys in the District Attorney's office seemed to be more concerned with the numbers game than they were with doing the right thing. Mostly he considered attorneys to be bottom feeders that walk upright. _'They're either an ambulance chaser or an overpriced piece of crap_ ' - from his experience. But she was different.

Talking with her was quickly becoming one of his most favorite things. It was also becoming slightly uncomfortable. The car was now sheathed in her scent. He didn't know the name of the perfume, but it was the most intoxicating he'd ever come across.

He avoided looking her in the eyes because much to his dismay, he found himself drowning in the pool of her big brown eyes.

He also looked away from her body. She was wearing a blue pants suit with a pink blouse when he picked her up. She'd taken the jacket off about ten minutes into the conversation and he couldn't help but notice that her breasts were clinging ever so gently to the shirt, and the top button had become undone, revealing a very subtle amount of her cleavage. _34D_ , he shook his head at the incredibly improper thought.

When he looked back in her face he couldn't help but notice the small amount of red lipstick that was remaining on her lips. Her lips were the most perfectly full lips he'd ever seen in his life. As she talked he watched them move in the most sensuous way, _I can't imagine what it must feel like to kiss those lips._

"...That was one of the funniest cases I had last year," she laughed.

She had been casually relaying a funny story to him. He fumbled with a notebook while nodding his head and smiling at her words. Deciding it was best not to look in her direction.

 _She's an attractive woman so it only makes sense that I would find her attractive. I'm a man after all. I think all the perfume in this car is just making me lose my mind a little._ He chuckled at the ridiculousness of feeling guilty for finding her so attractive.

She could hear herself ramble on, but was unsure of exactly how to stop. For some reason she felt a little unnerved sitting in the vehicle with him.

He was far from what he appeared to be. She generally called most, if not all, white police officer's in the south 'Bubba.' It was an inside joke that she had with her colleagues, even the ones that weren't Black. 'Bubba' is generally not to be trusted; he's gonna shoot first and ask questions second.

She knew that it was a generalized term which was, in and of itself, wrong. However, just as most stereotypes are, it was unfortunately based around the experiences of many people she knew - in and around impoverished communities.

Rick Grimes was no 'Bubba.' She considered herself a pretty good judge of character, and from what she could gather, his was pristine. He appeared to be an actual nice man. As they spoke she realized that he was more than just your typical deputy. He volunteered at the King County Boys and Girls Club, worked with numerous outreach programs, and spoke very highly of his community.

As much as the respectable attorney attempted not to notice; she had quickly become cognizant of his speech…his inflection. He had one of the most gentlemanly southern voices she'd ever heard. _Not just southern but damn sexy...sexiest voice I've ever heard...in my life_ , a thought that she quickly brushed off. It was completely inappropriate.

He began flipping through paperwork as they spoke. She was, quite frankly, happy that he did. Each time he looked up and she partook of the most beautiful blue eyes she'd ever seen, she felt uneasy. He also had the sincerest smile that she's ever seen.

The scent of his cologne permeated the car; the spiced-musky scent had apparently made her lose her mind. Though her words came out seamlessly, she felt like she was losing her breath.

As he fumbled with papers her eyes roved over his body. The way his uniform fit was just not right, _No one should look that damned good_. He was muscular without even trying; she assumed he didn't try. His hands were beautiful; gently suntanned like his face.

She'd never really noticed a man's hands before. They looked like they were the perfect combination of soft and rough, _And the way those pants fit...My God...that seems just obscene,_ she frowned at her thoughts as they silently ran parallel to the words she was saying...

"...I'm just glad it all worked out," she trailed off.

Her smile was small as she subtly looked away; guilt ridden by thoughts that she knew she shouldn't have. She had not looked that closely at another man in years. Actually, she had stopped looking at Mike that way some time ago.

"That's funny," he said with a smile, his distraction not quite noticeable to her.

"How long has it been?" She asked looking at her phone which was now completely dead.

He looked down at his watch, his eyes grew large, "Wow, it's been almost two hours."

"Time really flew by," she said the exact words that he thought at that moment.

Just then they saw headlights pulling into the parking lot. As it came closer they could see the words _Dixon Tri Fecta_ were painted along the side of the tow truck.

* * *

A/N: Thank you for reading. Please let me know what you think. See ya' tomorrow. Blessings to you :-)


	3. Chapter 3 - Something in the eyes

**Chapter 3 – Something in the eyes**

* * *

There was something in the wide brown eyes of Lori Grimes. She reminded him so much of his first wife. Maggie's mom Dorothy had large sad brown eyes just like the widow Grimes.

There was something about them. It wasn't until Maggie was three years old that they recognized the symptoms of manic depression. Back during those days there wasn't a label for everything like there is now. Hershel would just tell everyone, _"she's having one of her spells,"_ or _"she's just having a bad day,"_ when she would take to her bed for days at a time.

It wasn't until she took her own life shortly before Maggie turned six years old that he began to put together all the pieces that had been in front of him for years.

The wise detective was regarded by all his colleagues to have one of the shrewdest minds in the history of the department; yet he was unable to see his own wife's suffering. He was unable to save the mother of his daughter. He considered her death the biggest failure of his life.

His partner and best friend loved him and kept his secrets, _that's what best friends do_. Dale covered for him when he took temporary solace in the bottle. Dale made sure reports were filed on time and mouthwash was always available in their squad car. Dale ensured that his wife managed the day-to-day care of a lost and very sad Margaret Greene.

No amount of alcohol could absolve him. No amount of drunk was ever drunk enough.

After a year of running away from the world, the small hands of his green-eyed daughter was what saved him. Being the best father he could be to his motherless child was what brought him back to being a responsible detective.

Marrying Annette had been a miracle of grace that he didn't believe he deserved. Becoming a second time father in his mid-forties was the furtherance of that same miracle.

Maybe helping this woman with eyes that had haunted him for over twenty years was his chance to right the wrongs of his past. He was pretty sure that this would not end the way the widow hoped; assuming she'd thought that far. Either way, he would help her find the peace that she searched for.

* * *

He entered the small dental suite located in College Park; a suburb of Atlanta. The typical sterile dental smell hung in the air.

Maggie had done an abbreviated background check on Carol Peletier. Hershel reviewed the short dossier on the dentist a couple of hours before the scheduled meeting. Within the forensic report and her background information, there was something missing. He couldn't put his finger on it, but it was gnawing at him.

Doctor Peletier was a widowed mother of a ten-year-old daughter. She moved to Georgia with her daughter Sophia just over five years ago. Ed Peletier was killed in a mugging gone awry months prior to her relocating.

Shortly after her husband's death she graduated from the University of Florida with a degree in forensic dentistry; also known as forensic odontology. She had not remarried.

Carol Peletier, DDS, was well known in the community. The office was not large, but her practice had grown over the years; through word of mouth only. Nearly half of her clientele were people without insurance. That was something that she did not advertise.

Maggie did a quick review of the dentist's financials, " _In the coincidence category," the young investigator relayed, "She's one of Congressman Michael Anthony's biggest local donors. She's not just a financial supporter, she's volunteered at his campaign headquarters; manning phones with her daughter and hosting fundraising banquets. Puts her mouth where her money is." The younger Greene giggled at her own clever assessment._

The widowed mother had worked as a contracted Forensic Odonatologist for the Atlanta Police Department for four years, and with the King County Sheriff's Department for two and a half years.

"Thank you very much for meeting with me Dr. Peletier," Hershel greeted as he walked into her very quaint office; the customary display of educational achievements on the wall.

The dentist was wearing the customary white lab coat. She was slightly above average height, slender, with dove gray eyes. Her hair was short and subtly spiked at the top. The overabundance of grey in her hair made her look much older than he knew her to be.

"You're welcome Mr. Greene... though I'm not exactly sure what this is regarding," she said.

"I'm just looking into the Grimes/Anthony car accident that occurred nearly two years ago."

The wise detective noticed a few things about the svelte dentist immediately. She smiled but he was sure the smile meant very little. She had been become very adept at disguising all emotions - if she chose.

His quick assessment of her was that she had years of putting on this fabricated game face. Her overly calm and pleasant expression could've simply been a tool that every good dentist needed in order to calm a jittery patient. It was a reasonable assumption. However, the intuitive private investigator wasn't buying it.

"I can't say that I remember the case in detail," she said, looking into his questioning eyes, "Any information that I would've had was sent to the Sheriff's Department."

"I've had an opportunity to see the report...it was very thorough," he complimented.

She extended her left hand towards the chairs; offering him a seat. She then took a seat behind her desk.

"As I've stated, I haven't seen the report in some time. But I do try to be very thorough...especially in a case like that where so much was dependent on dental records."

"I don't wanna take up too much of your time. I only had a couple of questions," he said, noticing her reluctance to discuss the case.

She retained her smile; nodding her head in the affirmative for him to ask his questions.

"I understand that you'd been working as an independent contractor for King County a few months prior to the accident...Is that correct?"

"Yes," she told him, her smile less pronounced but a smile nonetheless.

"I also see that you lived in King County," he stated his question.

"Yes, I was living in King County at that time. We've lived here in College Park for nearly two years."

The detective flipped through the notes written in his trusty notepad.

"From what your associate said, this is in relation to the wife of the deputy looking into the accident," she inquired, her fingers interlaced and resting on her desk as she spoke.

He didn't answer for a few seconds while he looked through his notes. He raised his head and smiled back in her direction, "Yes, that's right. Mrs. Grimes had a few questions that I thought we could clear up with just a few interviews."

"Honestly Mr. Greene, I'm not sure how I can help you. The report that you appear to have access to has everything in it. There's nothing else," she scrutinized him with her eyes while the not-truly-sincere smile remained. He could see through her veiled attempt at hiding her growing annoyance.

His eyes were again focused down on his notepad.

"Had you ever met Deputy Grimes or Mrs. Anthony before?"

For a few seconds her well-rehearsed smile dropped. As quickly as it left, it was back.

"I don't believe I ever had the pleasure," she said, her eyes had drifted to the left for a moment.

He looked back down at his notepad, "The reason I ask is because Deputy Grimes was pretty well known in town, and within the Sheriff's Department."

"As I said, I had only been there for a short time," she paused while putting her words together, "If I'm not mistaken, I believe that was my first case for the department."

"I see that they generally used Dr. Jenkins for cases such as this. He worked for the department for a number of years...from what I've been able to gather he always handled the cases where there were multiple casualties."

"I'm not exactly sure what you're insinuating." The first crack in her perfectly plastered smile appeared...

"...Are you saying that I was somehow inept or unexperienced?" She attempted to further mask her growing contempt for the detective; the red slowly moving up her face revealed the truth.

He chuckled for a moment and then smiled, "No. I apologize if that's the way it seems. That was not my intention I assure you...just curious about why you were brought in on such a big case…with it being your first one and all."

"Can't say that I remember all of it, but I believe that Dr. Jenkins was on vacation. I received the request for identification the day following the accident," her face had quickly returned to its normal. The rehearsed smile returned.

"Do you happen to remember who contacted you to perform the identification?" He kept his eyes on her as he posed the question.

"I can't say that I do," she answered flatly.

He opened the folder and began thumbing through papers. He looked back in her direction...

"It appears as though you were brought in by Deputy Shane Walsh," he looked up and smiled at her, "does that sound about right?"

"As I said, I don't remember who contacted me..."

"His name stood out to me because Deputy Walsh and Deputy Grimes were best friends," he paused, making notes on his pad before continuing...

"Just seems that calling you in to do your job only hours after he'd lost his friend...would've been a conversation that you'd remember. I imagine he was probably pretty distraught," he watched her closely.

"He must've remained very professional...the conversation doesn't stand out in my memory," she said, her smile was slightly more forced. She lightly tapped her pen. Hershel was certain that she was probably unaware of this unconscious action.

"Having met Deputy Walsh...that seems, uh, uncharacteristic," he chuckled.

"I can't speak to that Mr. Greene...and I'm gonna to have to cut this short unfortunately. I have a few patients coming in and I need to prepare."

She was out of her seat and standing near the door before the words were completely out of her mouth. The detective stood and offered his hand.

"Thank you so much for your time Doctor," he said before taking his leave.

The mature investigator took a deep breath as he stepped back into the heat of the day. Even after living in Georgia all of his seventy-one years, these sauna days always seemed to take him by surprise. As his age progressed, high heat and humidity had become both his enemy and his friend.

His breathing was eased, and his lungs relaxed, in blasting air conditioning; while his bones ached, and his arthritis flared from the cool - but at the same time - His breathing was stifled, and his lungs hindered, in high heat and unrelenting humidity; while his bones were soothed, and his arthritis quietly lulled by the heat. The two sides of one coin where the absurdity of life resides...

 _That's the real unfairness_ _of life that young folks have no clue about_ , he grinned to himself, winced at the sudden ache in his knees, and then retrieved the phone from his pocket as he slowly strolled to his car.

"Noah," he said, using the wireless key fob to unlock his car door, "see if you can put all the technology you have access to, along with that computer like brain of yours, to pull together some information on Ed and Carol Peletier. Anything from when they lived in Florida. She went to school there."

"Another puzzle piece, Unc?"

"My sense is that the good dentist is not being completely forthright…I'd like to find out why."

Lori Grimes had Dorothy's eyes. He was smart enough to know that his feelings of guilt were why he even considered taking this case. He couldn't let lightning strike twice _. I'll follow the clues and hope that at the end of the road…I do more good than harm,_ he thought before driving away from the office of Carol Peletier, DDS.

* * *

x-x-x-x-x

* * *

They watched as the truck pulled into the parking lot. The engine cut off and then the lights. An average height man with long dirty blonde hair, a scruffy beard, and gray overalls with the words _Dix Tri Fecta_ printed on the back exited the truck.

Rick glanced back towards Michonne, "Looks like Daryl's back. We should be able to get you that gas and then check out the car... make sure it's just gas."

"That's good. Thank you. And thank you for sitting here with me...listening to me babble on for the last two hours."

He almost couldn't take his eyes off of her. The way her smile spread across her face was the embodiment of beauty. It had quickly become his favorite living image of perfection.

"It was my pleasure. You're very good company. Just in case you didn't know," he chuckled.

"I appreciate that Deputy Grimes. You're pretty good company yourself." She couldn't remember the last time she'd felt so at ease with anyone; much less a virtual stranger. An officer at that. It was almost laughable.

"You've sat in my car for the past two hours...I think it's okay if you call me Rick," he said, giving her his easygoing-grin; his eyes lightly crinkled at the corners.

"Then you have to stop calling me Mrs. Anthony. Please call me Michonne," she returned his relaxed smile.

"This has been such a crazy night. Only thing that I wanted to do tonight was celebrate my _win_...have a drink and relax. Maybe that's somebody's way of telling me that I needed to just go home," she laughed.

"I can understand that. My only plan tonight was to plop in front of the TV with a cold beer."

They both laughed.

"Daryl's place isn't fancy. As a matter fact," he chuckled, "it's the exact opposite of fancy. But his drinks are cold. If you'd allow me, I'd love to treat you to that drink...um, if you wanted," he anxiously rubbed his hands over his lap.

She had been trying to avoid his eyes. Now, all of a sudden, for a reason that she couldn't explain, she felt a little tingle in her stomach. Whatever this feeling was – it was absolutely not appropriate.

When she didn't immediately respond, Rick shook his head and nervously chuckled.

"I hope that didn't sound..." he stopped and cleared his throat, "I mean, I'm sure you're ready to get home. I wasn't try'na to be forward or anything..."

"No, it's not that...you don't have anything to apologize for." She grabbed her purse tightly and smiled back at him, "A drink would be great."

He smiled; letting out a quiet sigh of relief and then opened his door. She slipped her heels on. The habit of slipping off her shoes when she sat was one she started when wearing high heeled shoes became a part of her daily professional life.

Before she could reach for the handle, her door was wide open. Much like every southern gentleman who came before him, he stood offering his hand. She stepped out; her eyes wide and her smile bright, "Thank you Rick."

He almost lost the power to speak after hearing that one word fall from her lips. His name never sounded so melodious.

"You're, uh, welcome," he said in a husky whisper.

They strolled towards the darkly lit Dixon bar; watching as Daryl first opened the garage door and then walked to the bar. After the door was unlocked, the mildly unkempt owner wasted no time entering his establishment.

Without thinking he placed his hand on the small of her back as they walked.

A warming jolt of electricity shot through her body. She jumped at the instantaneous feeling of warmth.

"Sorry 'bout that," he mumbled. It was an innocent action that felt anything but innocent. Something that was an equal part right and wrong swelled within him.

"It's, uh, it's okay," she stammered, keeping her eyes forward.

He reached for the knob and opened the door. They stepped into the dim and vacant establishment.

"Hey," they heard the shout from somewhere behind the bar. As their eyes adjusted to the room, the man behind the bar stood. He was setting bottles on the counter. Rick and Michonne walked towards the bar countertop.

"Deputy. Ain't seen you in a while," the scruffy man acknowledged.

"Guess it has been a while Dixon. How's it goin'?"

"It's goin,'" He grumbled, only glancing up briefly from his task of wiping down the counter.

"Dixon, this is Michonne Anthony. Found her on the side of the road with a broken down car. She thinks it's out of gas...possibility that the gas gauge isn't working."

"Okay. We'll check it out. Good'ta meet ya' Miss Anthony," Daryl said, looking only for a second towards the woman.

"Good to meet you too, Mr. Dixon."

"Nah, I'm just Daryl... my daddy was Mr. Dixon…ain't seen his sorry ass since I was a kid."

Michonne cautiously smiled, not exactly sure how to respond to this extra information.

"Oh, okay," was the only response she could come up with.

"We were gonna maybe have a couple drinks, and then get gas...see if we can't get her car back on the road," Rick said, noticing how uneasy Michonne seemed. Daryl's unsolicited information had caused a bit of awkwardness.

"K," he said, "y'all can have a seat anywhere...what drink you want?"

"Whatever's on tap is good for me," Rick said and then turned towards Michonne.

"I'll have the same," she said. The truth was that beer wasn't her thing. She preferred Piña Coladas or Sangria. Her quick assessment of the establishment led her to believe that beer was probably a more practical request.

"Well, y'all sit down and I'll bring it over to ya," Daryl instructed.

The _Dix Tri Fecta_ never did much business. The only people that came through were generally lost or trying to keep a secret. Most of Daryl's income came from towing vehicles back to his shop and auto repair. His bills were paid through contracts he had with _All Towin_ g and _Truck Depot, Inc._ ; working on those vehicles is what kept his business afloat.

Daryl had no full-time employees. Jim only worked with him on the weekends. During the week he worked by himself. The normal things that most businesses offered like Wi-Fi, ATM machines or accepting credit cards in the bar were things that _Dix Tri Fecta_ did not offer. Customer service and catering to the norms of a social networking society was not Daryl's thing.

"This is an, uh, interesting place," she said. Though the word interesting was dragged out and meant not so much interesting as it did unpolished.

There were eight small tables with two chairs at each table. An old jukebox sat in the far corner and appeared to have a generous layer of dust covering it.

"Yeah," Rick said, "Daryl doesn't bother with extras."

"I can see that," she said and then began to laugh.

"Daryl's a good guy...I call him an acquired taste," Rick said and then joined in her laughter.

After Daryl brought them their drinks he again disappeared behind the bar. Shortly after that he walked out shouting, "Goin' into the garage. Don't steal no shit!"

They found themselves immersed in a conversation that included everything; their jobs, politics, old movies, music, and climate change. They pretty much hit every topic except one. They hadn't spoken of their spouses since offhandedly mentioning them while they were in the car.

There was never a time in her marriage when Michonne entertained the idea of another man. She was a normal heterosexual woman, so of course she'd checked out the physique of men at the gym or a good-looking celebrity.

At times her conversations with Sasha could definitely cross over to brazenly raunchy. Their girl time was the only time that she truly let her hair down. But it was all just talk. There was never any substance behind the crazy words they said. She never considered another man - until now.

She would never cheat on Mike; that's not the type of person she was. It didn't matter how unhappy and unfulfilled life had become. That's not who she was.

But yet - she watched his lips as he told her about a recent interaction with a local store owner...

"...He's a good guy...just reluctant to trust people that he doesn't know..."

She nodded her head; smiling as if she'd actually been listening, but her thoughts were in overdrive, _Those are nicest lips I've ever seen. What I bet he could do with them...and those hands...Stop It._ She took a sip of her beer. The bitter liquid was now lukewarm.

"Would you like another one?" He glanced at the glass once she sat it back on the table, "I'm sure that must be warm by now."

The unexpected intimacy that started in his squad car had flourished during their time in Daryl's modest joint.

"Oh...no. Thank you. One is really my limit," she scrunched her face subtly before smiling.

"Nothin' wrong with that," he said, fighting to break his stare.

 _God you're beautiful,_ the thought was too pervasive. It was, again, making him uncomfortable.

Being attracted to another woman was okay. He was a red-blooded man. His thoughts were his own and he had a right to them. But this was crossing a line.

A faithful married man, which he'd always been, shouldn't have these thoughts. Yet, here he was.

As they sat in this dim and desolate bar in the middle of nowhere, Rick found himself conflicted in ways that he'd never experienced.

She was moving the dangling gold M hanging from her chain back and forth as she spoke...

"...I haven't seen that movie yet, but I hear it's pretty good..." she said. He was only half-listening...

 _My god your body is incredible. I bet your skin taste good...as good as it looks...and smells. Just to feel you. Dammit. Enough Rick..._

"Um, I haven't seen it either," he said, forcing himself out of the inappropriateness of his thoughts, "I have a feelin' the police probably don't come out looking too good," he chuckled.

"They almost never do," she joined him in his mocking laughter.

He unconsciously reached over and patted her hand. The laughter trailed off as her eyes drifted up to meet his.

Their hands remained loosely attached. The warmth commingling with the electrical current racing through them was mesmerizing. Time stood still in that moment.

It was mere seconds; barely noticeable on a clock. The wrong in her mind was in extreme contradiction with the right in every other part of her body.

The light stroke he gave her hand jolted her into reality. She quickly pulled her hand away; wrapping it around the glass of water that sat next to the beer.

"Um...I'm sorry," he said, taking ahold of his beer, "I didn't...I mean...I apologize for that."

"It's okay," she looked past him and into the shadows of the empty establishment, "its late…I, uh, should head home."

He couldn't look at her. His extreme embarrassment, coupled with guilt, was intense.

"You're right," he glanced down at his watch, "let's get that gas can and get you back on the road." He gave her a quick smile.

They got up from the table and walked back to the bar. Daryl had been roaming in and out for the past couple of hours. He was hunched over the counter doing paperwork.

"Y'all ready to get that the gas?" He asked, glancing up as they approached.

"Yeah...we're ready," Rick said.

* * *

A/N: Thank you all so very much for reading, and for all the great reviews. I have absolutely love all the thoughts and theories. Have a wonderful day. See ya tomorrow. Blessings :-)


	4. Chapter 4 - A Deeper Understanding

**Chapter 4 – A Deeper Understanding**

* * *

The past two days had been incredibly draining for the 71-year-old investigator. All the reports, coupled with the two interviews he'd already conducted, had his mind going in several different directions.

On paper everything made sense. So far there had been no discernible contradictions. That was probably the biggest contradiction there was for the long-time mystery solver.

It was still early when he left Dr. Peletier's office in College Park. He had Maggie send him the information to _Truck Depot, Inc._ ; where Merle Deets worked. Noah had looked up his work schedule. For the next couple of days he had no trips calendared. His next long haul would be to the west coast in a few weeks.

 _Truck Depot, Inc_. required their drivers to do smaller local deliveries or perform truck maintenance when they had no extended hauls.

The private investigator pulled into the bus yard and parked.

The first thing that the very astute detective noticed upon exiting his vehicle was his very smart, very beautiful, and very determined daughter standing near his car.

She didn't wait for him to even ask the question...

"I'm tired of being on the sidelines daddy. I'm gonna question Mr. Deets right along with you. And just so that you know, I've already contacted Congressman Anthony. He's in town for another couple of days before he's back in D.C. He can meet with us in the morning," she reported in one long breath to her father and business partner.

His eyes were squinting, caused in equal parts by the brightness of the sun and skepticism directed at his daughter.

"Alright then, let's go," he said, turning on his heels and heading towards the only service door amongst the large open garage doors.

"Is Merle Deets available?" Maggie asked the large short haired woman.

"Yeah, he's in the back. Is he expectin' you?" The receptionist inquired with a raspy voice that undoubtedly came from years of cigarette smoking.

The skilled investigator glanced at the name plate on the desk in front of woman whose face appeared to have a permanent scowl on it.

"No, Sarah," he flashed his most gentlemanly smile," he's not expecting us...we'd just like to speak with him for a minute if we could." He handed the woman his business card.

She took the card, perused it, and then smiled back at him," What'd that fool do now?" She frowned; her face mildly contorted.

"Actually, he didn't do anything, we're just following up on a case that he witnessed," Maggie told the inquisitive receptionist.

Hershel and Maggie waited while the woman left from behind her desk and walked through the door adjacent to her desk.

A medium built man with thinning mahogany brown hair, and a smirk on his clean-shaven face followed behind Sarah as she reentered the reception area.

"I'm Merle," he said walking up to the two private investigators, "How can I help you folks?" His narrowed copper colored eyes salaciously washed over Maggie. He made no attempt to be discreet.

Ignoring the truckers glare at his daughter, "My name is Hershel Greene," he extended his hand. Merle hesitated before shaking the older man's hand.

Hershel gave a quick glance in his daughter's direction, "And this is my associate Margaret Greene. We're private investigators retained to do a little follow up on an accident that occurred a couple of years ago."

"Figured as much," Merle said, "this about the Grimes accident?"

"Yes it is," Maggie responded.

The longtime trucker looked over his shoulder towards the reception desk and saw that his coworker was paying a little too much attention to his conversation.

"C'mon. We can talk in the back," he instructed while turning to walk back through the door he'd just exited.

They sat at a table in the small lunch room.

"I already said everything at the scene when I was interviewed…and at the corners inquiry later. What else do you need?"

Hershel pulled out his trusty notepad and flipped through a few pages.

"There are just a few questions that I wanted to follow up on," the dogged investigator began.

"I see here that you've been driving big rigs for ten years prior to the accident. Is that correct?"

"Sounds 'bout right," he said.

"And it also states that in that time you've never had any accidents."

"That's right," the seasoned motorist grinned.

Hershel looked back at the grinning driver. He softened his expression, "Seems like that's one of the reasons that inquiry was so cut and dry."

"That's right. They knew I knew my shit. They didn't have no reason to doubt nothin' I said."

Maggie sat in silence watching the two men and instantly knew where her father was going with his questions.

"That's actually my question Mr. Deets. In ten years you never had any accidents. I have to imagine that you probably had many animals run across your path while driving. What made that night so different?"

Their investigation revealed that it had not rained in the area of the accident for over one week.

The grin dropped from Merle's face. He didn't answer.

"Just seems like a seasoned driver such as yourself would be able to avoid a deer without veering into another lane."

"What you gettin' at?" Hershel was amused; though his expression remained unchanged. He'd heard and seen it all. This was, however, the first time that he'd had three such different people - who weren't even suspects – ask him the same question with such incredulous stares.

"It's just a question Mr. Deets. I wasn't getting at anything." He smiled, though it wasn't the complete truth.

"Had you ever met Deputy Grimes or Mrs. Anthony before?" He asked the same question of Dr. Peletier.

"No. Never did," He frowned, "just wrong place at the wrong time."

"Was there anything about that night that seemed different to you? Maybe something that you didn't remember that night. Something that you can remember now."

"No. Anything that's in the report is probably better than anything I can remember now. It's been two years after all," he asserted.

Hershel smiled kindly, "It's not always the case that people recall things better on the spot. Truth is that sometimes, maybe even years later, folks can remember things that didn't seem important at the time. Maybe because they were too stressed initially."

He waited a few moments before continuing.

"Do you remember who questioned you at the scene?" The investigator asked.

"Ain't that in the report?" Merle countered with his own question. His eyebrows were knitted and his jaws slightly clenched.

"We don't have access to the complete report…that's why we're trying to fill in a few gaps with interviews."

"What's this even about?" The middle aged man asked, his annoyance becoming more pronounced.

"The widow just had a few questions that we're trying to answer for her."

"As far as I know, that Korean corner did a pretty complete report. Seems to me like he knew his shit. You should be able to get what you need from that."

Hershel scribbled down some notes on his pad and then looked back up at the grimacing man.

"Thank you for your time Mr. Deets. We'll see ourselves out."

Without any further ado, he and Maggie left the teamster sitting at the table scratching his head.

The two private investigators walked in silence to the parking lot.

"I take it you picked up on that," he said to his daughter once they reached her car.

"Yep," she gave him her cheshire grin.

He tilted his head, putting his hand on his forehead to block the sun. Above and beyond everything, he was still a father. Along with being a father, he was a consummate student and teacher. There was nothing more satisfying to him then having his student share knowledge and insight. He waited for her to elaborate.

"At the inquiry Deets referred to Dr. Rhee on two separate occasions as the _Chinaman_. The question is, exactly when did he find out that Dr. Rhee is Korean. Who has he talked to and why?" She raised an eyebrow.

"That's the question isn't it?" Hershel said, "We've gotta find out what his connection is to everyone else involved in this."

* * *

x-x-x-x

* * *

Rick filled up one of Daryl's loaner gas cans and then put it in the trunk of his squad car. Their drive back to Michonne's temporarily abandoned vehicle was quiet.

There were so many thoughts swirling around in both of their heads; neither knew what to say. They were beyond the point of casual pleasantries.

The deputy reached her car and made a quick U-turn; coming to a standstill behind it.

He turned off the ignition and slowly turned towards her. She was gazing down at her hands as they fiddled with her dark blue high end purse and her keys.

"Thank you again for agreeing to have drinks with me. I really enjoyed it," he smiled, lightly tapping the steering wheel.

She looked up, "I'm the one who should be thanking you," she returned his soft smile with her own, "I had a good time as well."

Silence again consumed the car.

"Uh, I'll go on and put the gas in your car...make sure that's the reason it's not running. May I have your keys?" He asked, reaching his hand out.

"Okay, sure...thanks," she said, handing him the keys. Their hands lightly touched. The spark, the chemistry - could not be denied. Her eyes shot up, accidentally catching his gaze before he looked away.

"I'll be right back," he said opening the door.

She again watched this unusually kind and good looking man move towards her car.

"What are you doing Michonne? This is absolutely ridiculous. This _can't_ happen." she admonished herself for every lascivious thought she'd had throughout the evening.

"I need to go home and never think about him again," she continued to leer at the deputy in question.

Having unwanted feelings for a man she'd just met was insane. Without warning she was overcome with emotion; not realizing that tears were gathering. _This is so wrong. It's wrong on every level. I just need to go home._ She turned towards the passenger window and wiped away the few tears that escaped.

"This is not who you are," she whispered, staring into the transparent night.

Rick opened the driver side door, pulled the lever to open the gas fuel door, and then proceeded to empty the contents of the can into the tank.

 _What does this mean? You're not this kinda man and you know it. This ain't you. Let's get her back on the road and consider this evening an anomaly. You didn't do anything wrong. She's a beautiful woman, you had a few drinks, and that's it. You also had the best time maybe in your life. God she's the most beautiful, talented, funn_ y _woman I've ever met._ He continually shook his head as the aberrant thoughts assaulted him.

He closed the fuel door and walked back to the driver side door. He turned the ignition. After a couple of tries, much to his delight and dismay, it started. After letting it run for a couple of minutes he walked back to his squad car.

"Looks like you're all set," he told her after getting back into the car; closing his door.

"Um, thank you again," she said, smiling but not looking directly at him, "You've been a true gentleman."

He smiled and nodded politely. Neither moved to exit the vehicle. After several seconds of edgy silence…

"Rick..."

"Michonne..."

They said in unison, causing them both to burst out in laughter. The sound instantly cut through the thick tension.

"You go first," she offered.

He drew in a breath, exhaling slowly, "I'm not...the kinda man that flirts with...anything else with...with other women," he stammered, looking more at the dashboard than in her eyes.

"But..." he stopped.

"I'm...the same way," she spoke into the silence, "I've never hung out with...or had interactions that some people might consider inappropriate...with other men," she frowned at her inability to vocalize what she meant. The problem was she didn't exactly know what she meant. Where was she going with this?

"I'd like to see you again," he blurted out. There was no two ways about it. The worst that could happen is that she'd say no and that would be it. The night still would've been one of the best nights of his life.

"I'd like that," she said. There wasn't much thought. It was simply how she felt.

There was so much that was unspoken in these words. This simple declaration. She couldn't look at him, and he couldn't look at her.

A combination of happiness, sadness, fear and lust, had her stomach in knots.

He looked up and watched her - she was fiddling with her chain again.

"I know that it's inappropriate...I won't pretend otherwise. I'd just like to get to know you."

"Me too," she whispered.

They sat in silence a while longer.

"I have to go back to King County next Wednesday..." she informed him.

"I could meet you at Daryl's place...just tell me the time," he added quickly.

"7 o'clock?"

"Yeah, that works," he said.

Without any other words he got out of the car and opened her door.

They strode slowly to her car. He opened the door and smiled, "Make sure you get that gauge fixed Miss Michonne," he said.

Against her better judgment she found the courage to look into his eyes. She was lost. She was lost in every way that a woman could be lost. His eyes were piercing right into her soul. She dropped her gaze towards his chest.

"I will," she said.

"Drive safely," he instructed as she eased into the driver seat.

"I will Rick...see you next week."

"I'm looking forward to it," he said.

* * *

x-x-x-x

* * *

"Hey Uncle," Noah greeted. His short Afro, large dark eyes, and big toothy smile making him look much younger than his twenty-something years.

"Looks like you're having a good time relaxing," Hershel said.

"You know me," the young genius exclaimed.

"That we do little cousin," Maggie said, smiling at the young man.

Skype calls had become the norm when it came to their communication with Noah. Over the past year he came into the office less and less, preferring to do most business through email, text, apps, or any other means of contact where he was not required to leave the beach.

The FBI had given him a generous severance package when he resigned. One of the victims of a human trafficking ring that his skills were instrumental in breaking up happened to be a child of a millionaire. The grateful mogul gifted Noah with a $2 million bonus for getting his daughter home. The money came at the exact time that the boy genius was ready to hang up his new-aged Bohemian shingle.

"I got that information you asked for Maggie," Noah said.

"So let's hear it," Maggie said.

"Before I get to Deputy Grimes and Mrs. Anthony…let me tell you what I found on Deputy Walsh," he began, taking a quick look at his notes.

"His behavior didn't change very much before the accident. His routine was pretty normal. After the funeral is when there was a change. He took two weeks off…which isn't really unusual after losing your best friend…but…he completely fell off the radar during that time. I show no plane tickets, train tickets or bus tickets. He didn't rent a car, yet his car stayed in his driveway for the whole time. There was an email where he mentioned going to a lodge to get away, but there was no reservation anywhere. Plus, how did he get there?" Neither Hershel nor Maggie responded. The older Greene was focused on his scribbles; the younger Greene on her developing outline.

"Oh…and he put in a request for transfer to the Los Angeles County Sheriff's Department about six months ago. Looks like it was recently approved. Not sure if any of that means anything," he said, watching the lack of movement in his colleagues.

"Now, as for Deputy Grimes and Mrs. Anthony," the young man continued, "I've looked through work history, credit card transactions, and internet activity for five years...up to the day before they died and I haven't found any connection. I even hacked..."

"Noah." Hershel interrupted with his disapproving tone. The retired law man had a serious aversion to the casual use of a word that was associated with criminal activity.

"Sorry Unc..." he said before continuing, "I _borrowed_ a facial recognition program that law enforcement in Georgia and several other states use. I keep telling people that there's no such thing as privacy...I mean, Big Brother is always watching. You know..."

"Focus, Noah. Focus," Maggie encouraged, stopping what was sure to be a Big Government rant. Trying to get a word in edgewise when the intelligent conspiracy theorists got going was nearly impossible. The key was to stop him before he got going.

"Oh, okay," he refocused, "The program didn't locate any time when Rick Grimes and Michonne Anthony were ever in the same place at the same time. I never found one iota of proof that they ever crossed paths. Even the times when Deputy Grimes was in Atlanta transporting a prisoner or some random meeting, Mrs. Anthony was either not in town or someplace else. When she was at the King County Courthouse they never crossed paths. I even went beyond just facial recognition and looked at video, and still nothing." He stopped and watched the elder detective. Even through a flat screen he could see the wheels turn.

"Based on that silly grin you have on your face, I'm assuming there's a _but_ ," Hershel said, directing his quizzical stare at the young man who did indeed have a silly grin on his face.

"Like I said...there is no proof that they were ever in the same place at the same time...but," his grin spread as he stared at the investigator, "there's some things that, I don't know, seem...off."

"Like what?" Maggie jumped in.

"I was 'bout to tell you Mags...chill," he picked up his large coffee mug that said, Don't Bite Me Unless I Ask, in bold letters, and sipped his drink.

"About six months before the accident, Mrs. Anthony's routine changed. The condominium that she and her husband lived in kept a record every time the residents exited and entered the parking structure. On the nights when she would leave King County...a drive that should take no more than an hour maybe an hour and a half with bad traffic...she would sometimes not get home for hours." He stopped, taking another sip of his drink before continuing...

"The very first time that occurred was right after she had a big win on a very contentious case. She pulled out of the King County Courthouse at 6:30 and didn't get home until just after midnight. I did checking and two days after that she had her car serviced...there was a recall on her gas gauge. It made me think that maybe she had some kind of car trouble that night...but there was no record of her calling for assistance..."

"Hmm," the detective wrote feverishly while listening.

"Also," young Horvath continued, "right around that same time, she began going out less and less with her friend Sasha. Looks like she became a real homebody. When she wasn't working...or missing for those few hours a couple of times a week...she stayed home watching television. And here's the kicker..." he paused.

"All these dramatic pauses you're takin' is driving me crazy, Noah. I'm gonna jump through that screen and pop you," Maggie's glare was a mix of frustration and playfulness.

"You have some anger issues goin' on Mags...you know they have a pill for that..."

"Noah," Hershel snapped.

"I hacked," he grinned, "I mean...I reviewed her Netflix account and saw that she started watching movies that were completely opposite than what she usually watched. A lot of old westerns..."

He pointed at Hershel, "Stuff you'd probably like...Unforgiven, True Grit, Bonanza...stuff like that. I reviewed her account and up until that point, she'd never watched a western before..." he took another one of his dramatic pauses and watched the younger Greene scrunch her face. He smiled, enjoying his mischievous taunting...

"...Along those lines...just a thought, I checked out Deputy Grimes' Netflix account. At the same time her taste in movies and television shows changed...his did too. He watched every superhero movie, comic book film that was on Netflix. Before that I don't see that he ever watched a movie like that. Mrs. Anthony on the other hand was a comic book fanatic..." Noah continued.

"...He also started watching lots of things that were definitely uncharacteristic...Love and Basketball, Jackie Brown, Love Jones, The Color Purple...he even binge watched Luke Cage and Good Times..." he looked directly at the senior Greene.

"...You ever heard of any of those movies or shows Unc?" He asked mid laugh. Maggie began laughing as well.

"I _have_ heard of The Color Purple smart aleck," the septuagenarian southerner chuckled.

"That's my point. Old white guys would never sit and watch those shows...unless they were hookin' up with a fine sista like Michonne Anthony."

"Noah!" Maggie shouted, "You really have no filter."

"Whatever Mags," he said, waving his hand in a dismissive motion.

"...Even with that said, I still can't find any physical connection between them. No phone records...I even checked their email. There were no email messages ever sent. Sometimes people get phony email accounts, which we know, but there's no evidence of that either. So maybe the deputy was just low-key trolling black culture." That caused him to fall into a fit of giggles.

"Focus Noah,"

Hershel and Maggie shouted in unison.

"Okay, okay," he regained his composure...

"Other than the political events that she went to when her husband won his seat in Congress, I never saw any times that they were out together. Speaking of her husband, he spent most of his time either on the road or in their home in Washington D.C. I did some checking...never saw any evidence that he was having an affair either...but they definitely seemed to be living separate lives," he scratched his nose...

"Pretty much the same goes for Deputy Grimes and his wife. They had been doing in vitro fertilization treatments, but that ended about five months before he died. Mrs. Grimes seemed to spend more time with her friends from church than anything else...or she was out with her parents. The deputy was either home or at his friend Shane Walsh's house. Looks like he even paid for the pizza most Friday nights at his friend's house. Other than that I never saw him out...if it wasn't connected with work."

Hershel had remained mostly silent during Noah's lengthy report. Even his body language and facial expressions were stoically quiet.

"Their lives seemed...I don't know...kinda lonely," the young man added. His words, laced with empathy, was the first real indication that Noah was more than just a cocky know-it-all computer with legs.

"Hmm," Hershel mumbled again.

Maggie could also see something connecting in the veteran detective's brain.

"Did you still wanna meet with Congressman Anthony?" The younger Greene asked.

Hershel continued writing, not acknowledging the question.

"I'm not sure how beneficial it would be. It seems wrong to put doubt in his mind about his wife. Seems more than possible that Deputy Grimes meeting Michonne Anthony on that night was just really bad luck," she postulated.

Hershel glanced up at his daughter.

"You may be right, but there's just too many pieces to this that don't fit together like they should," he twirled his pen and raised his brow...

"...But I do agree with you in regards to Congressman Anthony. You're a young woman that's in lots of those women's organizations. We'll tell him that you're doing research on women that made an impact in the law. His wife had some pretty well known cases, so I doubt he'd question our motives," he said.

"Sounds like a plan," she agreed.

"Glad that's settled," the quickly becoming bored young man said sarcastically, "I do have a few other things I'm looking into...some other _interesting_ things," he smirked.

"What are you gonna do, sit there and grin all day long young man? You gonna tell us what it is?" Hershel asked.

"Let me do a little more checking before I give you the other information. There's something else I wanna research."

"Alright," the senior partner said, "We'll touch base tomorrow."

* * *

A/N: Thank you for all the follows, favorites, and reviews. I really hope you're enjoying this little mystery. Have a wonderful day.


	5. Chapter 5 -Lines Crossed

**Dear Readers:** I just had to say a quick _Thank You_. All your theories and speculations have been wonderful (some of you have a slight hangover from Bewitchin' ;-)) I'm clearly not the most creative person in the room...lol. I almost wish I'd gone in the direction that some of you have theorized. Without giving away the remainder of the story, I'll just say, this more in the vein of an episode of Columbo/Matlock/Murder She Wrote, and less Twilight Zone/Outer Limits.

Anywho, back to the story. Please enjoy.

* * *

 **Chapter 5 – Lines Crossed**

* * *

Michael Anthony's wife was officially pronounced dead five months after he won his congressional seat. He sold the condominium that he shared with Michonne Anthony shortly after her death.

His platform had been multi-tiered; better schools in underrepresented areas, more inclusive businesses, a more transparent government, housing for homeless, Insurance for part-time workers and a few other things. Once he became a widower his platform became more concentrated and his efforts more focused. He became more single-minded in his work within movements where women were respectfully recognized; no longer sexualized. Working with community organizations and government agencies to assist women dealing with abuse – whether it be home or work – became his passion.

The Congressman agreed to meet with the _Greene Agency_ after receiving a call from Beth; informing him that Maggie was putting together information on women who made an impact in the judicial system.

"...I'm honestly not sure why my wife decided to take those last two cases. She never liked the drive to King County," the Congressman informed the _Greene_ associates, "After that big win she had, I thought that she'd be taking some time off."

He chuckled to himself, "But that's who she was. She was always one to work for the underdog."

The two investigators arrived at the Congressman's Atlanta office understanding that they would only be given about fifteen minutes to meet with the very busy man. Hershel allowed his younger protégé to take the lead - given the fact that they went there under the guise of doing a story for a report/article.

"That's what I've been able to glean from my research on her," the pretty investigator said, telling only a very small part of the truth, "She was a very impressive woman."

"I think there's a lot of things I could've done better in my marriage," the widower said unprompted," I'm pretty sure that's not what you're here for…but that's the truth." He had an infectious smile that was not quite masking his unresolved feelings.

"I appreciate you for being so candid, Congressman Anthony," Maggie said, "I'm happy for any amount of information that you can give me," she turned towards her father and back towards the interviewee, "That you can give _us_ ," she corrected, "about you, your wife, and your marriage."

"I'm always happy to talk about Michonne. She really was one of the best people I've ever known," he said; the corner of his mouth slightly twitching – just shy of becoming a smile.

"Many professional women tend to worry about building a successful career while also maintaining a successful relationship," she told him, from her own personal experience, "Anything you're willing to share with us would be incredibly helpful."

The congressman stood and walked towards the counter along the wall of the small conference room where the meeting was being held. His assistant set out beverages and pastries.

"Please help yourselves to anything you'd like," he said, looking over his shoulder at the two investigators.

After grabbing a small bottle of juice he sat back down.

"Truthfully, I don't think I'm the right person to talk about having a successful marriage…or relationships for that matter. Don't get me wrong, my wife and I loved each other very much. We were best friends who fell in love." He leaned back in his chair; briefly staring into his past life.

"…I think our marriage became more of a partnership than anything else. She's the one who helped me build my campaign. Running for office was actually her idea; she always saw a much bigger picture than I did," the corners of his mouth turned up as a vision of Michonne flashed through his mind, "with her cases and my campaigning, the last couple of years of our marriage was…pretty distant," he mindlessly rubbed his left ring finger where his wedding band once rested.

"Sounds like a real power couple to me," Maggie forced a smile. The legislator's openness and honesty was making her incredibly uncomfortable. Even after eight years of being an investigator, she still didn't like this part. Telling what she considered to be 'a little white lie' to get at the truth, suddenly felt very wrong, _He's practically pouring his heart out because he thinks we're writing an article about his dead wife. Yep, I am definitely writing that article. I'll just need to find a place to publish it._

He continued lamenting, unknowingly making Maggie feel worse with each word, "…I said that I wasn't sure why she took those cases; truth is I probably do know. She needed something. I stopped paying attention to her. I believe that she was happy. She was definitely successful. I can't think of a better person to be in your article…"

Hershel paid close attention to the congressman as he spoke. Michael Anthony was about 6'2", rich chocolate complexion, very strong features and dark brown eyes. He was unquestionably a handsome man. It was clear to the astute investigator that this successful and good looking man was shrouded in regret; regarding his wife. It was something that Hershel could relate to, _The biggest regrets most people had were in regards to their spouses and their children_. With that thought, he glanced over at his daughter. She had a look on her face that said she was either going to vomit or burst into tears, _Well Hells Bells_ , he tapped his chin with his index finger and smiled knowingly at the loquacious man, _It's time to land this plane._

Congressman Anthony continued,"…My wife deserves every accolade. She put everything she had into her job…and my job for that matter. At one point we wanted children, but I would always tell her that it wasn't the right time, and..."

"Congressman Anthony," Hershel jumped in; he had to. This was going _way_ off the rails, "We really appreciate you sharing so much about your wife with us. It's important to have her husband's assessment of her. Did she have any close friends or family that we would be able to speak with? It helps to give a well-rounded view of her," he probed. Noah had already given them background on the people in Mrs. Anthony's life, but this seemed like a perfect time to find out if there were any new people in her life.

"Uh, sorry for rattling on," he chuckled, embarrassed, "guess she's been on my mind for the past few months…more than usual."

"Have you already asked your lady to marry you?" The intuitive investigator asked.

Michael Anthony's eyes got large; his hand landed on his face before his chuckle grew deeper, "How…how did you know that?"

"I've been a student of human nature…as well as a detective…for many years Congressman," he smiled at the sadly-happy man, _The sad stroll down memory lane. The desire to talk about your deceased wife. The need for understanding and maybe even forgiveness. The fiddling with our vacant finger. Tell-tale signs of a man wanting to move but stuck in park. Idling in search of absolution._ Hershel smiled at the assessment; not needing to give away all his detecting secrets.

"You're very perceptive," the lawyer turned politician exclaimed.

Michael Anthony met Karen James on the campaign trail the year before Michonne was pronounced dead. They began a relationship five months later.

"Thank you for saying that," Hershel said, "I recognize the signs of a man in the middle of a crisis." The detective was by no means an egotistical man, but Michael Anthony was one of the most readable men he'd ever come across.

Things had gone off the rails and now was the time to reel it in, "I think your wife would be happy that you've found someone. Believe me when I say that wallowing in the past…in self-doubt, will only prevent you from moving forward and having a life worth living." He knew this better than most.

"Thank you, Sir," Michael Anthony said to the older man, "And, as for your question, my wife didn't really have any family. She was an only child; her parents died when she was in college. She had distant relatives. We usually only saw them around the holidays. Her closest friend was Sasha Williams. She had lots of associates, but…Sasha was really her only close friend. I haven't seen Sasha for a while. She and Bob Stookey got married shortly after we lost Michonne," he paused for a moment, blinking away the memory, "They moved to California about…uh…a year ago. I've only seen her once since the wedding…" he trailed off.

"Were there any new friends in her life? Anyone that stood out?" Hershel asked, determined to stay on track.

Michael paused for a moment while he considered the question, "Actually, it was just the opposite. She spent most of her time at home watching television. The last few months…she didn't even go out with Sasha. At first I thought that maybe she was sad or depressed…"

"What made you think she wasn't depressed?" Maggie asked, having recovered from her sudden fragility.

"She was always laughing and smiling. It was actually the first time I'd seen her that happy in a long time. Most of our conversations happened over the phone, but she seemed happy. I felt less guilty when we talked," he smiled at the thought.

Hershel managed keep the short conference on track for the remainder of their time in the widowed legislator's office. When they came to the end of the meeting, that was oddly cathartic for the Congressman, Hershel and Maggie headed to the office.

The conversation with the widower left the investigator with more questions than it did answers. The retired detective considered himself a very good judge of character. Michael Anthony struck him as a good man, _None of this makes any sense_.

* * *

x-x-x-x

* * *

When Michonne left the courthouse she had all but decided to just drive straight home. They had not exchanged telephone numbers; which was both good and bad. She could never just _not_ show up, though the non-action in and of itself would send the clearest message. It was the best way of letting him know that, in no uncertain terms, she had changed her mind. He was both a gentleman and a man of the law. He'd figure out a way to make sure she was safe and hadn't had an accident. Then he'd leave her be.

She merged onto the interstate with every intention of going straight home...so how was it that she was now pulling into the parking lot of the _Dix Tri Fect_ a?

"Just stay long enough to tell him that you _cannot_ do this. This is not who you are."

The small light on her mirrored visor was illuminated. She told her reflection what her intentions were. She drew in a breath, squeezed her eyes shut for a moment, and then pushed the visor up until it snapped. She quickly pulled it back down and checked her makeup, "I still wanna look good," she smiled at her vanity.

The strong-minded attorney closed the visor again and reached for her purse; having already slipped on her stylish beige pumps. Turning to her left to open the door she nearly jumped out of her skin when she saw Rick standing there.

"How long have you been standing there?" She giggled after he opened her door. He was even better looking than she remembered.

"Long enough to see you talking to yourself..." he gave her a mischievous smile that made her want to attack him right there.

"...Is this a regular thing that I should be concerned about?" He asked, the smile that she was quickly falling head over heels for got even bigger.

"That's not funny Deputy Grimes," which was clearly an untrue statement because she was happily laughing.

"If you say so Miss Michonne," he said, placing his hand on her arm. The laughter trailed off.

"You look beautiful by the way," he said, his tone more serious. The form fitting cream colored suit with light blue accessories hugged her body in the most glorious way; revealing little to the eye, but everything to the imagination.

"Thank you," she said, finally looking into his eyes. That feeling was back.

"It's nice to see you," his eyes remained focused on hers.

"It's nice to see you too," the words came out deep and throaty, _Who the hell just said that?_ She shook away the thought and the flirty behavior. Unsure of what to do with her hands she extended them for a handshake. The musk from his cologne almost made her woozy as it wafted through her nostrils and into her nether regions. She indiscernibly shifted.

He smiled and accepted the offer; clearing his throat...

"Um, the place looks deserted, but I saw Daryl walking around a little while ago," he paused for a moment, "ready to go in?"

She nodded.

"...How is it that you have never heard of that Deputy?" She laughed. Most of the laughs of the evening had been at his expense. Her amusement at his inability to name more than two superheroes kept then laughing throughout the evening.

"...I'm gonna have to require you to bone up on some superhero information."

"I can do that…" he grinned and winked his eye at her, "…You're gonna need to bone up on your knowledge of western, too. I mean, you haven't even seen _Blazing Saddles_. You oughta be ashamed Miss Michonne."

"Okay," she flashed him the smile that mesmerized him, "I'll do that. We'll compare notes."

Unlike the last time they were there, this time she ordered a more fruity drink.

Time flew by as they sat and talked. It had been nearly two hours but seemed like only minutes. Neither were aware when the subtle flirtations began. Neither would ever admit – _they possibly didn't even know_ – that the flirtations began the moment they met.

"This was so nice, Rick. You're excellent company," she professed; her mind drifted while staring into the widest dark blue eyes she'd ever seen, _I never knew the color of someone's eyes could change like that. I think they've changed into every shade of blue there is. Wonder what dark blue means_.

"Next time I'm gonna have to put some money in the jukebox and show you how us country boys dance." He tilted his head as the corners of his mouth gently rose.

She smirked, "You think there's gonna be a next time, huh? Do I have any say about that?"

"Yes...you have every say," he kept his eyes glued on hers.

"Are you flirting with me Deputy?" She sucked in her lower lip without breaking eye contact.

"I think you're the one flirtin' with me," he glanced at the table and ran his finger over her hand.

"I could definitely make an argument against that," she said, barely above a whisper. The surge that shot through her at just the small touch of his single finger was indescribable.

"I'm sure you can counselor..."

"Y'all 'bout ready'ta go?" Daryl asked, not bothering to walk up to the table since there was no one else in the establishment.

"Yeah," Rick shouted back, "Thanks, Daryl."

They strolled out to the parking lot. Rick opened her door. It felt like his first date. His first date in middle school. The notion was ridiculous considering that they were both married to someone else. But that's how it felt; like a first date.

He had been watching her all night. Watching her every movement. The way she touched her chain when she got a little nervous or embarrassed. The way her face lit up when she talked about helping her clients. The way she grinned when she spoke about her sister-friend Sasha. The way she tapped the table when her laughter bubbled over. Every facial expression she had. She wore her emotions on her face. This woman that he barely knew was like an open book to him.

Right now, as he stood just a breath away from her, she was nervous beyond words.

"I really hope that I can see you again," he wasn't sure exactly how he found the words, but it was exactly what he wanted to say.

She looked away from him; slowly glancing down at either her shoes or his, he couldn't tell. Her head slowly lifted...

"What are we doing here, Rick?" It was a question, but she knew he no more had the answer to it than she did.

"I don't know," he placed his hands on the nape of his neck and leaned closer to her, "I just know that I want...No...I need to see you again. Even if we just sit and talk. I've just never enjoyed being with anyone as much as..." he couldn't finish the statement. It was a declaration. Putting her in this position was only compounding a situation which should not be happening.

She could see his consternation. He was in the middle of a battle between his heart and his mind; guilt was the battlefield.

"Rick," she touched his arm, "I feel the same way."

"All I've wanted to do all night is touch your hand...kiss your lips...but I won't," he confessed.

"Oh…uh, okay," she said tentatively, her hand finding its way to her chain.

"Unless...you want me to," It was a whispered question, _I am seriously back in high school._

"I do...but we can't."

"I know," he agreed.

Unlike the night they first met, the moon was full tonight. The entire area was illuminated. It was almost as if the moon itself had come out to bless them with light.

"I have to be in King County again on Tuesday. There's another case...I think I'll take it," she said quietly.

"Good...the same time?" He asked.

"Yes...that'll be good," her words were expressed quietly but with confidence. She was suddenly feeling emboldened and able to look directly into his eyes. There was no doubting what was going on. The gentle throbbing between her legs and the warm stir in her stomach left little doubt.

"Goodnight, Michonne," he leaned in and placed his lips on her cheek. He took a breath, inhaling her scent. Heat rose from what felt like the bottom of his toes and made its way to his face. He allowed his lips to linger for just a few seconds before backing away.

"Goodnight, Rick."

* * *

A/N: I hope you enjoyed the update. This was one of the shorter chapters, so I'll be posting another one later today. Enjoy the day. Blessings :-)


	6. Chapter 6 - Boy Genius

**Chapter 6 – The Boy Genius**

* * *

Building a case with pieces that didn't quite fit together was par for the course for Police Detective Hershel Greene. Completing a picture with limited clues had never been a real problem for him. When everyone else was ready to throw in the towel, or accept what was on the surface, he dug in even more.

This case was different. So many things did not add up. Even as he moved towards what would seem to be the correct conclusion, it still wasn't adding up. There was the problem of the _why?_ There was also the problem of the _how?_

Motive was behind everything in detective work. Sometimes there was premeditation. Sometimes there was no thought behind the action at all. But a motive, whether before or after was always there.

 _What am I missing?_ He stared into his half-empty cup of cold coffee. It had been a long morning of sitting at his desk reviewing notes that did not add up. Each time the answer to what seemed like an unsolvable riddle presented itself, he scrapped it. The _how_ and the _why_ were missing.

Maggie opened his door as he crumpled another piece of paper and tossed it into the overflowing receptacle.

"Daddy," she said peeking into his office, "Noah is on the line. Skype, in my office. He said he has the information that you asked him for, and the stuff he was piecing together."

The wary investigator glanced up and his daughter, "Alright, I'll be right there," he said.

He grabbed his notepad, cup of cold brew, and followed his daughter into her office.

"Okay, Noah," she said to the grinning young man, "regale us with the information that you're so excited about."

"Hey son," Hershel said, facing the large screen in Maggie's office. His old-school values and stubbornness did not allow him to have these newfangled gizmos in his office. He refused to even entertain the notion.

"Hey, Uncle Hershel. I have what I'm calling a six degrees of separation thing going on. I can give you all the information, but I honestly have no idea what it all means... _if_ it means anything."

"Go ahead," Maggie sighed, shooting eye daggers at her young colleague.

"I'm serious, Mags...there's a pill for that," he laughed; showing all 32 of his pearly whites.

" _Noah_ ," the senior partner chastised.

"So…" he rolled his eyes and abridged his large smile into a knowing grin, "You wanted me to look into Merle Deets, Carol Peletier, and Glenn Rhee. Also did more checking into Shane Walsh."

Unlike when they spoke the day before, Noah was not lounging on his patio with the ocean as his backdrop. Today, he was sitting in his makeshift office at his desk. Like any good hacker/highly capable computer techie; he was facing his large PC monitor with a medium sized laptop on one side and a smaller laptop on the other.

"Here is where we get to the six degrees of separation thing..." he peered into the screen; looking at his associates faces as well as the open webpage on his smaller laptop.

"Merle Deets was raised by his father, Joseph Deets, from age nine. His mother was locked up for welfare fraud and died in prison when Merle was ten. He and his father moved from Arkansas to Florida shortly after. Joseph Deets met Muriel Dixon while working as a cook at a small diner in Tallahassee, Florida. They became involved..." his eyes bounced between the three screens.

"Muriel Dixon had an eight year old son named Daryl. Gene Dixon left his wife and son when Daryl was four. Muriel and Joseph lived together for a number of years. They were never married and kept separate bills and accounts, but for all intents and purposes they lived like a married couple."

The young man posited, "Daryl and Merle were raised as brothers. Unofficially."

He leaned closer to the screen, indicating that there was more, "Based on hospital and police reports, Joseph became abusive to Muriel and both boys. Looks like, at around age sixteen, Merle joined a bunch of different racist Aryan groups. Seems like that's when Muriel left both Deets men. She moved to Orlando with Daryl. He was fourteen," he kept his eyes on the smaller monitor.

"Merle remained in those racist groups until about five years ago. His internet accounts ended, his attendance at meetings ended and his relationship with members of those groups ended. Based on his social media accounts and email account, he cut all ties with that part of his life…"

"Hmm," Hershel hummed as he listened and took notes.

"…Daryl Dixon lives nearly completely off the grid. He worked as a mechanic for about ten years. I assume he kept his money under a big mattress because he never had a bank account...until five years ago when he bought a business that sits off interstate 285 between Atlanta and King County.

"His business, _Dix Tri Fecta_ , is a combination gas station, garage and bar...real old school. There are no cameras within miles of the business. Along with having no cell service in the area, he also has no Wi-Fi. Finding out who has or hasn't been there is impossible. All the rules of video surveillance, facial recognition and credit receipt tracking _do not_ apply. The place is stuck in the olden times, like the nineties," he laughed. "Seriously the dark ages around there..."

"Let's save the exposition young man," Hershel said dryly, without looking up from his paper. He wrote and then underlined the words, That's the How.

"Just sayin'…It's a place where death goes to live," Noah giggled.

"That makes _absolutely_ no sense…" his favorite female investigator stated with her judgmental glare.

"I beg to differ…" he snarked, " _Anyway_ …I had to dig deep. Found video from outside of a highway diner right outside of King County. Looks like Merle and Daryl reconnected at the same time Daryl Dixon bought his business..."

"Interesting," Hershel mumbled to himself.

Noah continued, "...Before moving to Georgia, Carol Peletier lived in Florida...which you already know," he confirmed, "but what she did a good job of hiding is that she was an abused wife. This was a put-two-and-two together kind of thing. Maybe just a strong assumption with suspect behavior thrown in."

"What strong assumptions?" Maggie asked.

"She went to emergency rooms a few times...a couple of them were miscarriages. Both times she stated that she fell. There were stretches of time when she either stayed home or only went out in the evening." He stopped and looked at Maggie. He and the pretty green eyed young woman weren't related by blood, but they were _without a doubt_ , related in love. They were always close. Maggie spent most of her teens babysitting Beth and Noah.

The two squabbled often but loved each other unconditionally. Noah knew her. Any type of domestic abuse made her both sad and angry. Along with being smart and feisty - strong with a wicked sense of humor; she was also the biggest softie he'd ever known.

"You okay Mags?" He asked, watching her subtle discomfort.

"I'm good," she said, her eyes remaining downcast.

"Alright. Well, after that...it looks like she became a kinda self-taught doctor. She checked out lots of books from the library on emergency room care, mending wounds, self-care, and so on...lots of books on setting broken bones and fractures. The next time she went to the hospital was when she had her daughter Sophia."

"That probably explains why she's such a big supporter of Congressman Anthony," Hershel postulated while steadily making notes. Both Maggie and Noah glanced in his direction before the young 'hacker' continued…

"…Doesn't look like she let anything stop her though. She got her AA from a junior college, her BA from Florida University and went on to start as a student at the Florida School of Dentistry.

Noah looked up from the monitor and ran through the rest quickly. "There was a blurry video of a woman being beaten in a parking structure in Orlando, Florida. The owners of the parking structure turned it over to the police, but the authorities were never able to identify the people…sadly, it was just low priority. I used the facial recognition program and…it clearly identified the couple as Ed and Carol Peletier," he took a deep breath.

"One week later, Ed Peletier was killed in what appeared to be a mugging gone wrong. There were no cameras in the alley. Seventeen customers and three employees were at the bar when it happened...all were questioned and released." He forged on, "Maybe it's just a huge coincidence, but… Daryl Dixon was one of the customers questioned."

Both Hershel and Maggie were feverishly writing and listening.

"...I did some more checking and found that Muriel Dixon now works full time at the women's shelter that she and Daryl went to when she left Merle's father. The place has never required any type of identification. Women can stay there anonymously. But...they do have cameras all around the shelter for the women's protection. Carol Peletier was there three separate times. Daryl Dixon did odd jobs around the place for years."

"That's their connection," Maggie said quietly, more to herself than the others as she wrote.

"Eight months after Ed Peletier was killed," the former FBI sleuth said, "Carol graduated from dental school and moved with her daughter to Atlanta. That was two months before Daryl Dixon came onto the grid and bought his business."

Hershel continued to write while Noah spoke.

"That loosely connects Merle, Daryl and Carol...but still..." her eyes followed landing on the older Greene, "what are you thinking?"

"Hold on," the whiz kid said, clearly annoyed at the interruption of his step-by-step breakdown, "I'm not done...there's more..."

He did another one of his dramatic pauses and took a gulp from his water bottle.

"...Three months after the _Dix Tri Fecta_ opened, two men tried to rob the bar. I say tried because the robbery was thwarted..." he looked at Hershel and grinned, "that's one of your favorite words Uncle, _thwarted_..." he waited for recognition from the older man; Hershel didn't look up from his trusty notepad...

"...Anyway," Noah man continued, "Daryl Dixon, along with the only patron in the bar at the time, managed to subdue the men. The patron was Deputy Rick Grimes."

Maggie's eyes shot up. Noah watched both of his comrades, "Deputy Shane Walsh is the one who took the report. The two felons were transported to the Atlanta Police Department. The report was filed with the APD...never made it to King County. Two months before Deputy Grimes died...the report disappeared. I followed the trail...looks like Deputy Walsh deleted the report. It didn't raise any red flags because it was done at the same time that the police department switched over to a new server...several cases were either lost or deleted," he said.

"That report is the only thing that connects Walsh, Dixon and Grimes...except..." he took a moment to thoughtfully regard the audience of two.

"Remember how I said there was video of Daryl and Merle at a diner outside of King County? Well, that was the first time. The second and only other time I could find was also three months before the accident. Not only were Daryl and Merle there, but so were Carol, Shane and Rick. Michonne Anthony showed up twenty minutes after the others. I saw video of everyone arriving. Apparently everyone used cash because there's no other evidence of them all being there. There are no cameras inside the diner, so I can't say that they all sat together."

"Wait a minute Noah...did you find a connection with Dr. Rhee?" Maggie asked, "It doesn't sound like she actually had any direct dealings with Glenn Rhee. Following your six degrees of separation theory, we're still about three degrees separated," she said. There were sheets of paper spread out in front of her; outlines, diagrams and notes scrawled all over the sheets.

"There may, or may not be...but there definitely is, a connection..." he smiled; having a little too much fun sharing all of his research, "Follow me on this one..." he began.

"...Mrs. Anthony joined the _Blake, Garnett, Law firm_ six years before her accident. Though it was a firm that handled mostly high profile corporate cases, she made a practice of working on four or five criminal cases per year. They were usually defendant's that needed top notch legal representation but couldn't afford it. She took the cases pro bono," his eyes fell to his medium sized monitor as he continued…

"…Linh Juong was an eighteen year old Korean man accused of snatching a woman's purse near the restaurant where his family worked. The woman that was robbed was older. She later had a heart attack and died. Linh Juong was charged with manslaughter along with assault and battery. Mrs. Anthony went to the mat; finding witnesses, locating video evidence that proved her client was not in the area at the time of the crime, and even managed to locate the actual perpetrator. The man who committed the crime was a part of one of Atlanta's wealthiest families," he took a breath before trudging on.

"Right…and I mean… _right_ after the case was settled, the Immigration Department received an anonymous tip that the Juong's were in the U.S. illegally. Mrs. Anthony stepped in and handled the immigration case too. The case involved the Juong and the Rey families. All three of the Juong children were born in this country, but the parents weren't. Mrs. Juong's sister had married Li Rey years earlier. Li Rey was documented, but they tied his wife in with her sister. By the time Mrs. Anthony was finished, not only did both families win their case, they also won a civil case against the family of the actual perpetrator. Mrs. Anthony handled the civil case as well. They walked away with just over one million dollars. Judging by her bank records and that of her firm, she didn't take a penny of it…"

He continued, "The families were from North Korea. Had they been returned to their homeland, they would've faced death. She basically pulled a miracle out of the air...freedom, citizenship and a shitload of money..." He stopped suddenly, smiling enigmatically…

"Sorry Unc," he shrugged, acknowledging his bad language. His uncle was busy writing and had not looked up during the entire spiel.

"Here's the thing," he displayed his most cocky smile, "the biggest...coinkidink...is that Glenn Rhee is the youngest of the Rey children. The spelling of his last name was mixed up when he was in Kindergarten and the family never corrected it. There is literally no paper connection between him and his family. No one would ever make the connection…unless they were highly skilled," he smirked at his older friend and cohort.

"I'm not sure if any of that means anything. Dr. Rhee never disclosed in his report, or the inquiry, that he knew Mrs. Anthony. That's something that he was required to disclose. That disclosure would've been the only way anyone could've known about their connection…"

"Did you find…"

Noah cut her off, already prepared for her question, "There were no phone calls between Dr. Rhee and any of the others. I checked the phone records from his office. He did receive several calls from an untraceable cell phone beginning a couple of months before the Grimes/Anthony accident; there was nothing else. He moved to the west coast about a year ago. He has a small practice in Orange County, California."

"Way too many coincidences in this case," Maggie said to both men, " _way_ too many for my comfort."

The hair on the back of his neck was standing. That was when the seasoned detective unequivocally knew that the case was solved; at the very least, the puzzle pieces finally fit together.

"You did good son," the older man said; tilting his head and smiling softly, "I might have to give you a raise."

That comment garnered a laugh by his younger partners. Those were Hershel Greene's favorite last words once Noah passed on indelible facts.

Hershel gathered his writing material and walked towards the door; ignoring their laughter.

"I've heard that before," Noah said while he laughed.

"Where are you goin' daddy?" His co-partner asked.

"To see a man about a dog…" he smirked at his oldest child in a way that only a father could; his head tilted towards her with a raised eyebrow.

She gave him a lopsided smile and rolled her eyes. The memory of her father saying those exact words when he was leaving the house flooded back. It wasn't until she became a teenager that she realized it was his way of saying ' _I'm an adult and it's none of your business where I'm goin'._ The fact that he never came home with a dog had not dawned on the incredibly bright precocious child at the time.

"Daddy," she grimaced; only slightly amused by his attempt at a joke.

"Sorry 'bout that baby girl…but you walked right into that one," he chuckled…

"…I'm actually gonna have Bethy give Lori Grimes a call…ask her to come in. It's time to give her some information. Let her in on a few things."

* * *

A/N: Like Noah, I'm gonna take a dramatic pause. With each post, I've made small changes to each subsequent chapter...now the dominoes have caught up to me. I need a couple of days to get back on track. Chapter 7 will be up in a couple of days. See ya soon :-) Let me know what you think so far...the reviews truly keep me motivated.


	7. Chapter 7 - Acts of Kindness

**Chapter 7 – Acts of Kindness**

* * *

" _Thank you so much. I owe you big. My life. My family's life. Everything," he told her. There was so much sincerity in his words. He took her hand in his for a moment. There was so much love and respect in his touch; a touch with hands that were all but sculpted by the man above to become board certified. He adjusted the tassel on his cap and zipped up his long red gown._

" _You owe me nothing," she insisted, giving his hand a squeeze, "all of this is because you worked hard."_

 _He began staying with neighbors during the very heated and public case. What was supposed to be temporary, eventually became permanent._

 _After his family won their civil case they divided up the money. He was the youngest, thus his needs were never considered. He wanted to be a doctor, but they had made no financial provisions for Med School._

 _Michonne began giving him money. insignificant amounts at first – then larger. It was not intended to be a secret; though she never mentioned it to anyone except Sasha. With her monetary gifts, financial aid and loans, he made it through school._

 _Having a surname that was different from that of his family's, he was able to be his own person and write his own story._

" _If you hadn't helped me when my family forgot I existed, I wouldn't be here right now," Glenn's eyes glistened with tears as he looked at his silent friend and benefactor._

* * *

x-x-x-x

* * *

"...All I'm sayin' is you two been meetin' here for the last three months. You sit in the corner and make silly ass googly-eyes at each other. You flirt like I ain't never seen b'fore. Then you walk 'er out. Looks like y'all make some kinda stupid conversation and then she leaves. You come back in here lookin' like a lost puppy dog," Daryl grumbled out his observation. These were the most words Rick had heard his friend string together at one time.

"I'm not gonna...I mean, I can't ask her somethin' like that," Rick told him with a lot less surety than he would've preferred.

"Just know it's there if you need it...privacy if nothin' else," the uncharacteristically chatty pub owner said.

Rick laughed, "You never have customers in here. It's already completely private."

"Dumbass. Try bein' nice to some people...fuck off," Daryl grunted and then stormed towards the bar.

Rick followed behind him.

"Don't get all mad," Rick said, smacking his friend on the back, "I really do appreciate the offer but..."

"But you just a scared little girl," Daryl finished the sentence for him.

"Your words, not mine," Rick laughed, "truth is I don't wanna scare her off. I don't think either of us are ready to cross that bridge. She's not that kinda woman."

"Look, Im'a tell you somethin' that I'm sure you already know...yo' stupid ass is just too chicken shit to say," he grabbed a bottle of whiskey from the behind bar while Rick sat on a barstool, "believe me, she feels the same way you do."

"We're both married, Dixon," he said emphatically, bowing his head and staring at the immaculate black countertop.

"I'm aware," Daryl said. There was no judgement in his words or tone, "offer is still there."

"Let me go outside and wait for her. She should be here any minute..."

Before he could turn towards the door, she was walking in. He strolled quickly to her side, lifted her hand to his mouth and kissed it.

"Hi there, beautiful lady," he said.

She glanced around the room. It was as empty as always, with the exception of Daryl who was walking through the doorway which leads to that storeroom.

Her eyes landed back on Rick; on the lips that she'd been watching for the past few months, "Hi," she smiled.

"C'mon, let's sit down. I'll get your favorite drink."

"You've become my favorite bartender," she said happily, "Don't tell Daryl."

She sat at their favorite table in the corner. Rick walked behind the bar and took a bottle of Sangria out of the small fridge.

"How was your day?" She asked as he took his seat and placed her drink in front of her.

"It was good."

"How about yours? How much longer before the Sheriff makes his decision about the job?" She asked.

Rick was one of two final candidates in contention for the Desk Sergeant position. Even though everyone knew the job was his, for some reason Sheriff Jones was dragging the whole thing out.

"Seems like he wants to do some kinda big reveal, like an awards ceremony," she lifted his beer bottle in a mocking stance, "And the winner is...Deputy Rick Grimes," she announced.

He tried not to gawk but couldn't take his eyes off of her, _You are the most incredible woman I've ever known,_ he smiled, trying not to oblige his wayward thoughts.

"Somethin' like that I think. He's gonna make the announcement at Friday's meeting. Presumably whomever he selects will meet with him before the meeting."

"He's really making you guys sweat isn't he?" She giggled, reaching across the table and tapping his hand.

Before she could pull her hand away he turned his hand, his palm facing hers, and interlaced their finger. He lightly caressed the back of her hand with his fingers.

They had graduated to intermittently holding hands about a month ago; if no one else was in the darkly lit bar.

He looked down at his beer and pulled his hand away from hers.

"How about you, how's the case going?" He asked distractedly.

"It's fine. There's some evidence that I need to review, and a witness that I need to depose. I think it's gonna work out..."

While she was recanting her day and the intricacies of her case, she was watching him. He was barely paying attention; thoughtlessly using his thumb nail to pick at the label on the beer bottle. It was one of his nervous ticks that she'd taken note of. If he was bothered by something or a little stressed he tended to do it.

There was a tightness in her chest as she rattled on. An aberrant flash went through her. Initially she didn't know what the feeling was. Could it be...fear? _Maybe he came to his senses_. _Maybe he doesn't want to meet with me any longer._ Her heart started beating quickly at the thought. What if she couldn't see him anymore?

Getting together with him on these nights was the highlight of her week. Laughing and talking with him was everything.

"That's interesting," he mumbled, staring out into space.

"What's interesting, Rick?" She challenged.

"Huh?"

"I'm asking you what's interesting," she tilted her head towards him; her eyes ladened with suspicion.

"Uh," he mumbled, attempting to offer an apology with his smile.

"You haven't been listing. Where did your mind go? Is something wrong?"

He didn't answer right away; trying to figure out the best way to even broach this subject. It was innocent - an innocent suggestion. Except that it was anything but innocent. He knew it, and she would too.

They had been skirting _that_ conversation since the day they met.

"Rick," she lowered her voice, "you're making me nervous."

He reached across the table and took her hand again, looking into her eyes, "I'm sorry...I don't want you to be nervous," he said.

"Then tell me what's going on in your head," she said, placing her hand on her face; her French-tipped fingernails landing on her lips.

"Uh...Dixon has made us an offer, and I'm not sure what you'll think about it," he couldn't look into her eyes.

"What's the offer?" Her nerves were still on edge.

"He has a small apartment upstairs. I've crashed there a couple of times in the past...if I thought I had too much to drink. He doesn't use it otherwise," he still couldn't look her in the face; his eyes were downcast, "he's offered it to us..."

He kept his eyes on his beer but didn't let go of her hand. He almost expected that she would yank her hand away - possibly curse him out and leave. He hoped that his words had not ruined whatever was happening between them.

"...Thought we might want more privacy..." He laughed, "It's kinda ridiculous since this place is about the most private-public place you can ever go to," he chuckled again; finally daring to look up at her face. For the first time he was unable to read her expression.

Quiet overtook the room. The light hum of the appliances was the only sound in the room. He wanted to just slink away, or just disappear altogether, _You're a damned fool Grimes_ , he frowned, pulling his hand away. She reached for his hand, not allowing him to move it too far. She interlaced their fingers and waited a moment for him to look back in her face...

"I thought...maybe you were going to end things," she confessed.

"You don't ever need to worry about that," he smiled.

"I think that...the, uh, apartment would be nice," she said, her voice low and quiet although there was no one else in the tavern.

"You do?" Though a large smile now brightened his face, the look of surprise was all too present.

"Yes…Don't you?" She asked hesitantly.

"Of course I do. I just..," he shook his head, "Are you sure?"

"Truthfully, I'm not sure about a lot of things. I'm scared. I just like spending time with you."

"So do I..." he looked down at the table; taking a moment to gather together his thoughts and words. He couldn't look her in the face; continuing to scratch the remainder of the label off the bottle, "...It's wrong and I feel guilty as hell but I wanna be with you. _Completely_."

He breathed deep, "We've been honest with each other about everything...feels like lyin' to not say what's been in my head..."

"Thank you, Rick. Thanks for being honest," she shyly told him.

"If we go up there," he squeezed her hand staring into her eyes, "there's a line that we'll probably cross. I don't know if either of us are really ready to cross yet."

"I'm not naïve. I want the same thing that you do," she whispered, "I can't stop thinking about you. I want to. I swear I want to. I just can't stop."

With Mike winning the seat in Congress she had been flying back-and-forth between Atlanta and D.C. Mike was originally from the Capital and owned an apartment in Northwest D.C. She flew there for photo ops and big ticket dinners, but she always made it back to Atlanta in time to meet with Rick for their one night a week get together.

"I know. I can't either," he probed her eyes, "We've been courtin' Michonne. It's ridiculous…the idea of married people courtin' is ridiculous. But…that's what we've been doin'."

"I know...guess Daryl saw what we weren't ready to," she said, feeling a sense of relief that they were finally putting all their cards on the table.

"We've never really talked about _them_..." they always steered clear of the topic of _them_.

"Yeah," she groaned, "I don't have the right, but it makes me jealous just thinking about you with her."

"Don't be…" He looked back into her face, into the most beautiful brown eyes he'd ever known, "she and I haven't...well...in a lot of months. I don't want you to think that _that_ has anything to do with this though. This is so much more than that."

"I don't think that," she told him without hesitation.

"I, uh, try not to think about you and..."

"Don't," she interrupted, "we stopped that several months ago. Even when we're in the same city. We just haven't." She had not been intimate with anyone other than Mike in nearly nine years. He knew her body. _Or at least he used to,_ it was a passing thought.

"Hmm," he wasn't sure what to say.

"We've led separate lives for over a year. Probably longer than that if I were to really think about it. He's a good man. It's just...I don't know." _What if you don't like the way I feel, taste, everything?_ It was a thought that didn't pass quite as quickly.

"I understand. Believe me," he assured her.

Opening up about their individual marital truths was liberating. Throughout their time of knowing each other their spouses had been in the shadows. They kept their entire friendship focused only on each other; learning only about each other. The problem with that was they could never truly learn all there was to know about each other without opening up about everything.

"Do you think that…" she looked down at the table, squirming in her seat," do you think that we could go up there tonight? Just hold each other."

He was surprised. Pleasantly.

"We can do that," he said.

"And thank you for using the word 'courtin'," she stroked his hand and smiled her widest and whitest smile, "I've waited my whole life to hear a southern man say that in real life," she joked.

"You're hilarious," he said sarcastically, raising his eye brow, and then bursting into laugher.

They walked towards the back of the pub and up the stairs.

The nervousness that should've been there wasn't. She stood beside him as he unlocked the door.

Much like the bar, and the man, the large one room apartment was anything but fancy. There was a bed, a chair, a small kitchenette, and a small brown dresser.

He took her hand and walked her to the bed. They sat down.

"Wanna take off your shoes?" He asked

"Okay," she said, slipping off her heels.

He bent over and pulled off his boots. They looked at each other. She placed her hands on her lap.

"Can I kiss you?" he asked, "I wanna kiss you while we're sittin'. I don't know if I can control myself if I kiss you once we lie down," he moved closer; their knees bumped.

"I've been watching your lips for two months," he whispered, dropping his stare from her eyes to her mouth, "I've never wanted to do anything more than put my lips onto yours."

She nodded, giving her permission.

He ran his fingers down her face. She closed her eyes as he scooted even closer. His lips touched hers - lightly at first. She let out a breath. She parted her mouth as did he. He pulled her closer and then slightly turned his head; their noses pressed against each other as their tongues touched. It only took a moment before they were lost in each other. The kiss deepened. He began gently sucking her bottom lip. She began sucking his.

"Mmm," she moaned into his mouth as their tongues passionately intertwined.

He gingerly backed away, "I knew you'd taste good…" his chuckle was light, "We'd better stop. I'm a gentleman, but even gentlemen have their limits."

Her giggle was quiet, "Yeah. I can't rightly say that I'm a gentle lady," she agreed using her best playfully-mocking southern accent.

He lightly kissed her cheek, "I'm gonna hold you to that," he said flirtatiously.

"You trying to get frisky deputy?"

"You'll find out."

"That I will," she leaned closer lightly touching his lips with her hers; placing her hand on his knee. She took a deep breath, inhaling his scent.

"Who's the bad influence here, me or you? I'm not sure right now," he backed away and watched her wide smile glow in the poorly lit room.

"I think it's a tossup," she said running her hands over his face. He grabbed her hand and kissed it.

"C'mon, let's lie down so I can hold you in my arms," he said. They moved towards the middle of the bed.

"It's a little embarrassin'…but…you did some things to me. You might feel, you know..."

"I think I can handle that," she laid her head on his chest.

"I'm certainly hopin' you can handle that," he moved her locs and kissed her temple.

"Rick, you are so bad."

"I'm gonna plead the fifth on that, counselor."

* * *

x-x-x-x

* * *

"Thank you for coming in, Mrs. Grimes," Beth said; standing to meet the visitor.

"Of course," the widow said, "I was happy to get your call."

"Detective Greene and Miss Greene will be right with you," the young blonde informed her.

She knocked on her father's office door and then opened it; leaning her head in. Her two bosses were seated, having a conversation about a possible new case; or so it seemed.

"Mrs. Grimes is here," she informed them.

"Be right there, Bethy," he told his youngest daughter.

Maggie remained seated as her father left the office to retrieve their would-be client.

"It's good to see you Ma'am," Hershel said, as he took her hand.

"You said you'd have some kind of an answer for me in three days," she smiled, "you're certainly a man of your word Mr. Greene."

"Come on into my office," he ushered her to his more intimate office, "would you like something to drink?" he offered.

"No, thank you," she said, as they entered the small and much less adorned space.

Maggie stood and shook Mrs. Grimes' hand, "I'm Maggie Greene. It's a pleasure to meet you."

"It's nice to meet you too," Lori said.

They took their seats across from the lead investigators desk. He took his seat.

"I'll get right to the point," he told her, picking up his trusty notepad and quickly glancing down at it...

"We've had an opportunity to dissect reports, question witnesses; including those in law-enforcement..."

He looked into her large probing brown eyes. She reminded him so much of Dorothy. Even her mannerisms were like his deceased wife's. He was momentarily at a loss for words, _This is right...it's the right thing to do. I wish I could've saved you Dottie,_ he blinked away the rumination.

Maggie regarded her father. At the end of the day, he was much more than her partner; he was her dad. No one else would notice, but she could see that he was struggling with something.

"I can tell you with the utmost surety that the bodies in that vehicle were those of Deputy Richard Grimes and Mrs. Michonne Anthony."

He watched as her shoulders slumped and her eyes quickly well with tears.

"I know that was Rick in the picture," she asserted with a sniffle.

"Mrs. Grimes," his expression was soft, his eyes kind, "I'm not going to discount what you saw in that photograph. I believe you're right. That person looks an awful lot like your husband. Anyone who says otherwise is sorely mistaken."

She glanced back at him. Her expression was not quite as sorrowful.

"Don't let anyone make you believe that you're seeing things. There are people that look like other people. They even have the exact same mannerisms," he smiled, "with over seven billion people in the world, it only makes sense that we all probably have a few doppelgängers..." he chuckled for a moment.

"...but that is not your husband."

She kept her eyes focused on him and ran her hands down her jean clad legs. Her long dark hair gently cascading down her chest.

"This is your opportunity," he began, "this is an opportunity for you to truly move on with your life. You had a husband that loved you. With all our research, we never found anything to the contrary."

The corners of her mouth gradually rose.

"From what I could see, your husband was a good man. There's no doubt that he'd want you to be happy; to have a good and decent life."

He continued to observe her body movements.

"This is your new beginning. This is your time," he told her with all the warmth and sincerity he'd garnered through years of consoling worried and grieving families.

"Is there any chance..." she began; her hopefulness not quite as strong.

"There is no doubting the evidence..." he interrupted her persistent plea...

"...Believe me when I tell you that life is so short. Losing someone is difficult. I know," he was again speaking from experience tucked away in his life's experience, "and it's okay...it's okay to move on and find some joy," he told her a truth that he learned many years ago...

She stood, "Thank you Mr. Greene," her face was neither happy nor sad; vacant of any discerning emotion. The angst-ridden woman that the investigator met a few days ago seemed to be gone. There was not just an uncomfortable acceptance that she now seemed to have; there was an aura of relief surrounding her, _Maybe I can really be happy with Phil_ , was her transitory thought.

He walked her out of his office and to the outer door.

"You take care of yourself Mrs. Grimes," he told her.

"Thank you Mr. Greene…for all your time. I really appreciate it," she leaned in and gave him a quick peck on the cheek before turning on her heels and exiting the office.

He watched her exit and then walked back into his office and closed the door. Maggie was sitting in the same spot.

"You gonna tell me what that was all about?" She asked, dumbfounded, "I've never seen you lie to a client before."

He took a brief moment to behold his daughters face. She looked more like him than her mother but she still resembled his first wife.

"I hope to never have to do that again," he told her, taking his seat.

Maggie knew her father. He was the most honest man she'd ever known. He was almost too honest in her opinion. If there is such a thing. She'd never known him to not do the right thing. There was a code that he lived by. Even if everyone around him skirted the rules and the laws, he never did.

He was lost in a reverie, she could see it.

"I _don't_ blame you for her you know? It's not your fault. You've been an incredible father and I'm sure you did the best you could do...given the circumstances at the time."

They very rarely, if ever, spoke of Dorothy Greene. She had always been that elephant in the room. She was the boogie man that they just didn't acknowledge.

It was rare that Retired Detective Private Investigator Hershel Greene was left at a loss for words. This was one of those times. He simply nodded and smiled at his daughter. The lump In his throat was all but foreign.

"So, is Mom of the reason that you lied to Mrs. Grimes?"

He chuckled, swallowing slowly before speaking. "You certainly have your father's way with words."

"Yep," she concurred with a grin, "my father raised me right," she winked.

Her smile and whit had always been a beacon of light to him. In the darkest and loneliest times of his life, his little Margaret had unknowingly brought him through. He watched his little girls face for a moment more, before letting her in on his thought process.

"Mrs. Grimes is chasing a ghost. Not just a literal ghost either. She's done what I think lots of people do. The sad widow has romanticized the truth. I think that she's convinced herself that her marriage was something other than what it really was. It was important that I confirm what she believed about her marriage..."

There was no way to change what happened to Dorothy. Time machines and crystal balls only existed in the movies. Real life meant accepting that the past can't be changed. He would never be able to change his past actions, inactions and indiscretions. But this simple act of kindness was something he could do.

He ran his hand across his face,"...She needed someone to tell her that it's okay to move on and be happy. It seemed like she had lots of respect for me, and lots of trust in this agency; maybe hearing those words from me is what she needed..." he presupposed, keeping his eyes on his daughter.

"...Truth is, no matter how this pans out, she was never gonna get what she wants; absolution for either what she did or didn't do in her marriage," he said, taking a breath.

"From what I can see, Mrs. Grimes and Congressman Anthony are good decent folks. Hopefully they both can find happiness…and peace."

"What about Deputy Grimes and Mrs. Anthony? What do you think?" She knew what he was saying, but the question remained.

"From all the information we've gathered, seems like Michonne Anthony and Deputy Grimes were good folks as well…" he paused, watching his daughter follow his train of thought.

"…Maybe we'll never know exactly what happened that night; don't rightly know for sure if they were involved with each other," his expression mildly woeful...

"...I _do_ know that within any relationship there's lots of gray. No one is ever _all_ right or _all_ wrong. I can't pass judgment on them, even if they did have an affair," an imperceptible smile crossing his lips at the fleeting thoughts of his past transgressions.

He was looking in the face of his daughter but speaking more to himself with those words. Exorcising all of the demons that he'd carried for years.

"What are you thinking really happened?" Maggie asked, "We know things aren't what they seem. I still can't figure out exactly what everything means though."

"I'm not 100% sure either. I do think that the answer to this, if there is one, is gonna to be in California."

"You still wanna go on with this?" She asked; surprise and a little bit of shock evident in her question.

"It's something that I have to follow to its conclusion. Whatever that might be."

* * *

 _The question went through his head without much consternation, 'what would he do to protect her and his children?' The answer was easy, he didn't have to really think about it. He'd do anything. He'd do whatever it took to protect his family._

 _He sized up the older man the moment he opened the door and saw him standing on his doorstep. He was certain that not only had the determined detective come alone; he was also unarmed. The former deputy would do anything. Maybe he wouldn't even have to murder the man. Maybe just knock him out, giving himself enough time to get his wife and kids out safely. He planned an elaborate crime. He'd broken laws and involved close friends. Was murder that big of a jump?_

* * *

A/N: Thank you for reading. Only 3 chapters left. See ya tomorrow :-)


	8. Chapter 8 - Playing with Fire

A/N: I apologize for the delay. I completely re-worked this chapter. It was already written, but I wasn't happy with it so I did some serious tinkering. I tried something different with this. Please let me know what you think. I absolutely love all thoughts - the good ones and the not-so-good ones. They all make me better. Thank you. Please enjoy.

* * *

 **Chapter 8 – Playing with Fire**

* * *

"Own your shit," Rick said into the dark night as a frown quickly replaced the smile that previously illuminated his face. It wasn't Michonne's car. The truck that pulled into the stall next to his was Shane's.

His best friend got out of his car and walked up to him.

"So this is where you been hidin' out," Shane said, coming to a complete stop directly in front of Rick.

Rick placed his thumbs inside of his pockets and adjusted his stand, "Yeah," he replied, _shoulda seen this comin'_ , he thought. He'd been blowing his friend off for the past few weeks. Shane was never one to sit idly by.

"What's goin' on?" His friend asked.

"Just stopped here to get a drink is all," Rick said, casually glancing around the nearly vacant lot.

Shane smacked him on his back, "Well come on. Let's go in and get a drink then," he said with the happy arrogance that _was_ Shane Walsh.

"Uh, okay. You go on in. Let me grab something outta my car and I'll be in shortly," Rick said hesitantly.

"Nah, I'll wait," the persistent deputy said, grinning at his friend and not moving.

The area flooded with light. A car pulled into the lot. Both men watched the sporty black car pull into a nearby parking stall.

Rick's heart sped up. The nervousness overtaking him had his feet frozen in place. They watched as the headlights went off. _Shit. This ain't gon' be good_ , the thought nearly slipped out of his mouth.

Shane looked back towards Rick, "Go on and get what you needed from your car," he instructed.

Conflicted as to what his move should be – he just stood there.

Michonne approached them slowly; unsure of what to say. "Hi," was what she decided on, stopping in front of the two deputies. This was the less dramatic version of her nightmare – the nightmare where she stood in front of the partners at the firm, giving a presentation in all her naked glory.

Shane was not always the most perceptive man. He certainly would win no awards when it came to relationships. His last long-term relationship lasted four months and ended three years ago. He could read the fairer sex about as well as he could read a Yiddish bible.

Shane Walsh could, however, read Rick Grimes. His friend had been an open book to him since they were in their late teens. Rick was too honest to be a good liar. _You have the worst poker face than any Goddammed person I've ever met in my fuckin' life,_ he'd said many times over the years – especially when they were questioning suspects.

It took him about five seconds to peruse, and then decipher, the look on his best and oldest friends face. There was no doubt in his mind that his married best friend and partner was in love with this beautifully shapely Black woman nervously standing in front of them.

"Hi," Rick responded; staring at her like a deer in headlights.

Shane watched them both as the subsequent quiet and stillness of the night ensued.

"Hi pretty lady," the bold deputy stepped forward, "I'm Shane," he held out his hand.

"Um, hi, I'm, uh, Michonne," she stammered, shaking his hand.

"Uh, sorry," Rick spoke quietly, "Um Shane, this is Michonne."

"Yeah, numb nuts. We've already covered that." Shane joked, watching the woman whose hand he was still holding.

"Oh, sorry," Rick mumbled.

"So, how do you know this lovely lady?" Shane asked, finally letting go of Michonne's hand and looking back at his apprehensive friend.

Rick had two choices; two ways he could play this. He went with the second. Stepping closer to Michonne, he took her hand, kissed her on the lips like he did every time they met in the parking lot, and then turned to his best friend…

"She's my baby...the love of my life."

* * *

Adultery is never as simple as the eight lettered singular word would suggest. It's one word but can affect so many. It's the small pebble tossed in a still lake that causes ripples which expand far beyond where the pebble landed.

Their unconsummated adultery started the moment they decided to see each a second time; the first night they met on the side of the road.

It was four months after that fateful night when the pebble of infidelity caused a ripple. That ripple morphed into a tsunami that engulfed those closest to them.

* * *

He first kissed her two weeks ago. It was like an out of control frenzy. Every cell in his body went crazy. Holding back, even for a southern gentleman, was one of the most difficult things he'd ever done.

Rick waited in his truck for her arrival. She generally arrived after him. He was too anxious to do anything other than just sit and wait. He saw the headlights; just like clockwork. _I can do this. You're not a horny teen_ , the words had become his mantra over the past two weeks.

He exited his truck and walked over to her car. The smile she gave him took away his angst and worry. The stress of the day from work and home melted away. The gentleman-deputy opened her door.

"Hi, beautiful," he said taking hold of her. Not allowing her to respond he leaned in and kissed her. It was a soft kiss and then she opened her mouth partially; he did too. He could taste the spearmint in her mouth. She breathed into him.

"I missed you," she said quietly into his mouth. It had been exactly one week since they'd seen each other; since they'd touched or spoken.

"I missed you too, baby," he confessed leaning his head back; watching her subtle movements.

"C'mon, let's go in," he said.

Walking into Daryl's place tonight was different. He knew it was different the moment he laid his eyes on her. The need was stronger. _I can control myself, I can_ , he was mildly distracted by the thought.

"Hi Carol," they both said as they entered the dimly lit place. The gray haired woman with the sparkly eyes was the only other regular _Dix Tri Fecta_ patron.

Rick had known Carol for a few years. They were friendly, though they never had any in depth conversations. She generally spent her time, while patronizing the normally empty bar, quietly conversing with Daryl.

The keenly astute deputy had pieced together Carol's history – based in part on the things she said, and largely on the things she redacted. He knew that she had come from an abusive marriage. He also knew that his friend Daryl had something to do with Ed Peletier's death. It was information that he stowed away and never spoke of.

Michonne and Carol seemed to just click. The two women seemed to become instant friends; a friendship that existed only in the Dixon's out of the way establishment.

Carol was well-aware that Rick was married. He never spoke of his wife and she never inquired. People who frequent a deserted bar on a regular basis don't usually do it because they're happy at home. In all her time of knowing him, these past couple of months were the only time she'd ever seen him genuinely happy.

As for the dark-skinned beauty with the sweet disposition that seemed to make the Deputy so happy - Carol knew who she was the second she saw her. She had followed the Congressional race. Michonne Anthony didn't hover around her husband on the campaign trail like many other wives; in fact it was just the opposite. Mrs. Anthony did very few public outings with her husband.

 _They're in big trouble_ , Carol thought the first time she saw them together, and every subsequent time. They were too enamored with one another to play coy; like your average cheater.

She decided to just be a friend. Just like Daryl, she withheld moral judgment.

The four of them would generally chat for a brief time, and then Rick and Michonne would retreat to their private bubble.

"Hey guys. Good to see you," Carol said. Michonne walked to the bar countertop and the two women embraced.

Rick gave a friendly nod to both Carol and Daryl before taking Michonne's hand and walking with her to their favorite corner. After a while, they retreated upstairs.

* * *

 _Emotionally, physically and sexually starved adults who believe they can remain in the company of the one they are truly attracted to, without allowing their needs to override their values, are kidding themselves,_ she said to herself.

 _Two people who are unquestionably attracted to each other and say they can be in a bedroom together without_ _tossing those values out the window are lying, dilutional, or both,_ he told himself.

When those two individuals have admitted to themselves, and each other, that they are in love – but say that they can lie together on a bed and not succumb to every need they've craved…

The couple is quite simply _'playing with fire.'_ They both knew it.

" _I'm a respected attorney who's married to a newly elected Congressman. You're a highly respected new Desk Sergeant who's destined to be Sheriff within a year; married to a respected woman in King County and the church. How do we manage this?"_

It wasn't just playing with fire. It was toiling around in a pool of molten lava.

" _We move slow. Ease them into conversations about divorce. That's that," he told her with the utmost certainty._

It started as a little peck on the lips – just a simple kiss. They'd done it before. Just a little kiss. The little kiss quickly became something else.

" _You think it'll be that easy?"_

She left a trail of invisible sparks behind as she moved her hand down his clothed leg. He looked into her eyes; nearly losing all control and drowning in the glistening dark pools.

" _No. Anything but. Nothin' about this will be easy. But, we'll be careful…cautious. We won't do anything to embarrass them," he wasn't nearly as confident as he sounded. Hearing his own words, however, was beginning to convince him that maybe things could work out smoothly._

The kiss became more heated. There was so much need; so much desire. They forgot their plans. They forgot their responsibilities. He flipped her onto her back. Her giggle made him smile into her mouth.

" _Okay," she kissed his cheek as they rested comfortably in each other's arms; their shoes were the only article of clothing they'd removed, "We'll be careful."_

Their mouths opened and their bodies moved. Hands began to feverishly reach for buttons and zippers. Lips moved from mouth to neck to chest. Her moans filled the room when his fingers slid into her panties and into her warm wet center. His husky grunts rose above her moans as she took hold of his erect length and began to stroke; sweat and pre-cum providing just enough lubricant to allow her hand to glide.

" _After about a year or so, we'll get married. Quietly move away. Hopefully that'll save everybody from embarrassment."_

"I love you so much. I-I just n-need to feel you," he pleaded.

" _You're right Rick. That'll work."_

"Y-yes. Yes. I wanna feel you t-to," she stammered.

He couldn't wait. He couldn't think. He needed to be inside of her. He needed to feel her warmth, her heat, her wetness. Two separate times of kissing and petting – he couldn't. He couldn't do it again. The need was too strong. The desire too overpowering. _It was stupid to ever think that could be enough_ , was the only rational thought he had as the tip of his painfully hard penis touched her swollen bud.

"Ahhh—R-Rick."

"I know—w-we shouldn't. I know—but…"

"We—W-we shouldn't. But—Y-Yes baby. Please," she asked – pleaded.

He buried his face in her chest. Sweat pooling in the middle of her partially unbuttoned tan blouse. She moved her hands down his sides and pushed his jeans further down. They stopped at his upper thighs. She put her thumbs on either side of his boxer waistband and pulled them further down – stopping as they landed just below his firm rear end.

He was hesitant – rubbing his tip methodically around her wetness. Dipping in, even a minimal amount, was overpowering.

"Rick. Baby. Please. I wanna—I wanna f-feel you," it was a feverish plea. She couldn't think. She couldn't think beyond this need. This desire to feel the man she'd fallen so deeply in love with. To feel him inside of her.

"Mi—Michonne. I—" he eased into her. Into the warmth – wet – depth of her. He could feel every pulse, every fold, every spark.

She arched her back – he held her tighter, "Oh My God—R-Rick—Y-Yes," she purred as he moved deeper into her – then out – then deeper. His strokes steady as their bodies began to move in sync.

"I love you so much," she panted.

The room was quiet. She had one leg between his and one arm strewn across his chest. They were both breathing deep – spent and catching their breath. Their heart rates becoming more regular – less erratic.

"That was more than I could've ever imagined," he said, running his hand down her back.

"It was," her eyes were closed. Some of his lingering sweat rolling down her cheek. They had wholly disrobed and were lying naked in each other's arms. The sheets were bunched at the foot of the bed.

"I…it's not how I wanted our first…"

"Me either…" she interrupted what sounded like the beginning of an apology.

"I wanted to give you wine and roses…not just…"

"Rick," she lifted her head, propped up on her elbow, "Stop. Don't okay. Don't make it sound like this was a mistake."

He kissed her arm, "I don't mean it like that. You and I are _not_ a mistake. That's not what I mean. I just wanted to give you more."

"You gave me you. That's what I wanted." She pushed herself further up and stared down into his eyes.

"I love you so much, Rick. And I wanted to make love to you. It was incredible," she leaned down and kissed his lips, "you're an incredible lover. I've never felt like that before."

"Not even close," he said, recapturing her lips.

" _We'll be careful. Stay only here at Daryl's. Completely discreet baby. Don't worry," he kissed her hand, assured that the precautions they take would make their upcoming divorces as seamless as possible._

"Glad you enjoyed yourself deputy. I think you have a few more tricks up your sleeve. And I can assure you that I do," she giggled as he began to caress her breasts and suckle her nipples."

* * *

 _99% effective rate. How many people actually end up in that 1%?_ Her thoughts were in a tailspin.

"I can't believe this," she said, standing in her restroom holding the little stick with the pink plus sign brightly displayed, "this can't be happening."

For the past few weeks she knew that something was off. It wasn't even that her cycle was late. It was the uncharacteristic tiredness that she was plagued with; also the tenderness of her breasts. Her nipples were so sensitive over the past few days that it pained her to wear a bra.

It had only been one month since she and Rick made love for the first time, and only a few times after that, but here she was. _We didn't use anything the first time. I'm sure he came out…on my stomach…didn't he?_ she thought.

The memory of their first time rolled around in her mind, causing her to smile at a time where she didn't think that smiles were appropriate. _We wanted each other so badly,_ she looked back at the stick in her hand, "guess this is the result," she whispered.

"What am I gonna do?" She asked herself, staring at the sad reflection in her mirror. "What do I do?"

It was Saturday afternoon. The weather was probably some of the best they'd had in Atlanta for a long time. The beauty of the day was almost a mocking reminder of how life can both roses and manure at the same time. She walked into the living room and stared out the bay window at the busy Atlanta downtown area.

 _I can't do this to Mike. I can't do this to Rick,_ "My whole life I've wanted to be a mother…but not like this." _Not ruining so many people's lives._ Several different variations of those thoughts rolled around her mind and off her tongue.

She sat on the couch watching one of Rick's favorite movies, _Old Yeller_. It was one of the saddest movies that she'd ever seen, _I can't understand why he likes this movie so much_ , she thought while blowing her nose into the facial tissue. She'd gone through nearly half a box while watching the movie. Between finding out that she was pregnant with her boyfriend's baby, and watching a desperately sad movie, there would be no end to her tears.

"Maybe I should just run away," she told the blank screen.

Michonne had been ignoring Sasha for days. She put on her happy face and called her best friend. If the persistent teacher did not receive a call from her soon, she'd be showing up at her door, _I can't see you right now. You know me too damn well,_ she told herself _._ So, she put on her happy face and played nice on the phone. She laughed, joked, and did everything she could to assure her friend that life was great.

It was one of her best performance. Giving Oscar worthy performances had become her life. She put on a great show for Mike's supporters, for her colleagues, and everyone in between. Rick was the only one who she didn't have to act for. With him she could be herself all the time.

 _Now I just have to get through the week and figure out what to do_. It would be another four days before she'd see Rick. _That will hopefully give me time to figure out what to do_.

"I need to talk to you so bad, Rick." She said, tearing apart the tissue in her hand as she sat on the couch. She'd been vacillating between being happy that she didn't have to see him for a few days and wishing with everything in her that she could see him.

 _What if he doesn't want this baby_? Was a thought that scared her. _What if he does want it_? Was the thought that scared her more.

"It was my idea to not exchange phone numbers," she told the empty room _. I knew it would be too tempting for both of us_ , she thought. "Right now I just need to talk to you," she said quietly.

She glanced at the picture of her parents that sat on the mantle, "I miss you guys so much. I'd give anything to talk to you right now Mom…to bury myself in your arms Daddy." She whispered her longing - her silent prayer.

"What would you say about this?" She asked. _You'd both give me that look of disapproval for making such a bad choice…for being so irresponsible. But you'd hug me…love me. Stand in front of all the arrows that are sure to come my way. Probably tell everybody off_ … she smiled at the thought of her head-strong parents while her eyes flooded with tears.

Everything that made her who she was had come from them. All the nuances of her personality had been sewn by them. They had not raised an adulterer… _I guess they did._

"What's wrong?" Rick asked.

She had been staring off into space and swirling her soda around in her glass for the past thirty minutes; barely saying more than a few words.

He waited for her outside like he usually did. Kissed her softly like he usually did. Everything was like usual – except it wasn't.

Shane was at the bar. He was chatting with Carol and Daryl. Shane wasn't a huge fan of the relationship when Rick made his big pronouncement in the parking lot. He side-eyed the deputy and attorney for most of the night.

The next day at work he cornered his friend. After a few well placed _dumb-fucks_ and _stupid-assess_ , Shane listened to his friend who had fallen in love with someone he'd just met. Shane imparted the minimal amount of relationship wisdom he had and then vowed to have his best friends back – no matter what.

At first Rick thought that she felt a little uneasy with Shane there. It had been weeks since they'd met. Their initial interactions were somewhat awkward, but they had slowly become friendlier. _No_ , _this is something else_ , he was sure of it.

"Did something happen?" He asked, having not gotten a response from his previous question.

She glanced up at him and then looked back down at her drink.

He reached across the table and took a hold of her hand, "Did. Something. Happen." He asked; this time with more intensity. Punctuating each word.

"I…I'm…" she looked up into his worried eyes and then stopped.

"Michonne, baby, what is it?"

"I'm—I'm pregnant, Rick." She said, tears shone in her eyes as her lips began to quiver.

Equal parts of shock, surprise, and happiness, showed on his face.

"I'm sorry," she said; the tears now welled.

"Why are you sorry?" He asked with force; his shock quickly abated.

"Why do you _think_?" she responded with a smidge of bitterness directed at his question, and anger directed at herself.

"This is terrible," her voice raised a few octaves as the first tears fell.

"Okay," he let go of her hand and ran his hands through his hair, "I admit that the timing could certainly be better, but—"

"There's no _but_ here Rick," she scoffed, "If we go through with this, we could ruin a lot of people's lives."

He dropped his hands to the table and glared at her, "What do you mean _if_ we go through with this," he snapped. "There is no _if_."

"There has to be an _if_. You know it and I know it," she glared back at him; remembering that she was just as scared that he'd want the baby as she was that he wouldn't.

"There is _No If_ , Michonne." He took her hand; she reluctantly relented and relaxed the tense muscles in her hand.

She dropped her eyes to the table and stared at the watery brown liquid in her glass. His eyes remained focused on her.

"I'll divorce her. You'll divorce him. Just like we've discussed before. That's the end of that." He said in the form of an order.

"It's not that easy…that cut and dry," she mumbled.

"It _is_ that easy," he snapped loudly. His raised voice caused Shane, Carol, and Daryl to turn their heads towards the couple in the far corner.

Rick bowed his head slightly," I'm sorry. I didn't mean to shout."

She didn't look up.

They sat in silence for a few moments before he spoke again…

"Do you want our child?" He asked, stroking her wrist and hand.

She took a deep breath; keeping her eyes focused on their hands.

"I'm in love with you, and you're in love with me…so…I'm gonna ask again. Do you want our child?" He was trying his best to soften his tone; to reel in his frustration and fear.

"Of course I do," she said in a whisper with her eyes cast downward.

"Then you'll divorce him, and I'll divorce her, and that's the end of it," he repeated; this time softer and gentler.

She looked back into his face. The determination in his face practically bouncing off him. A few more tears slid down her face.

"I can't do this to him Rick. I can't ruin his life like this. And it's not just about him. He's a good man in a public office where I think he can really make a difference in this country. The White House might even be in his future. There's no way that he or his career can rebound from having his wife leave him for a cop, and have a baby with that cop. He would become a laughing stock and completely unelectable for another term. And all the people that he could've helped would lose out," she fiddled with the napkin on the table.

"So you see, it's not just about me and you. It's about a lot of people." Her stare moved from his eyes to the dark corner behind him; they then drifted up to the ceiling.

Michonne had always been quick to say that she didn't care what other people thought of her. She'd been called names for being too black –in color and ideology, for being too smart, or for just being too everything. Her skin had become thick and her will strong. She said it enough over the years, that she convinced herself it was true; that she really didn't care what anyone thought of her. She said it all the time. Wore it like a badge of honor. Only, it wasn't the truth; it wasn't the whole truth.

The words that the well-trained, intelligent, hard-working, attorney never admitted; _it shouldn't matter, but…what people think of me does matter to me_. They were the thoughts that plagued her for the past few days. What her family members would think, what Mike's family would think, what her co-workers and clients would think - What the public would think. It did matter.

Rick lessened his hold on her hand. He wasn't able to listen with his whole heart at the moment, but he did listen. He tried to – in that brief time span – understand what she was saying.

His only concern had been her and their child. Considering all the ramifications never dawned on him. She had, however, had a lot more time to think it through than he did. _In his defense._

"…And what about your wife…how will she feel?" She asked and informed succinctly, "You've been trying to have a baby for a year…"

He heard her. He didn't really hear the last part of what she was saying, because he was stuck on the first part. Her words had hit their target. It would destroy her," Rick mumbled; there was no denying the truth, "I think it would destroy her emotionally…the embarrassment of everybody knowing…would probably ruin her life."

"What kinda woman does this to another woman?" She said softly; letting out a quiet sigh, "What kinda _person_ ruins the life of a m-man that…put his f-faith and trust in her…" her voice quivered.

"Micho—"

"I wish I was dead," she blurted, squeezing her eyes shut and sucking in her lower lip.

"Don't. Don't _ever_ say that," he said, his jaw slightly clenched.

"WHY NOT." She shouted, "it's the truth." She pushed back from the table and stood. Quickly making her way to the restroom.

Rick stood while she rushed off. He walked to the bar countertop where his three friends were standing.

"What's goin' on brother?" Shane asked, stepping closer to the distraught man.

"Nothin'," Rick said; his eyes remained locked on the bathroom door as it slammed shut.

"Doesn't sound like nothin'," Carol said, her light eyes glistening in the dimness of the room.

Silence overtook the room for a few seconds before the bar owner broke through the stilled quiet with his astute observation…

"She's pregnant." Daryl said, without any hint of a question or judgment.

The eyes of the other three individuals landed on the insightful, yet grumpy bar owner.

" _What?_ " Shane said. His eyes moved from Daryl to Rick.

"How…" Rick attempted to inquire.

"'Cause I was payin' attention," he interrupted Rick with his nonchalant response, "the drink she got tonight. The way she was holding her purse, like the strap was bothering her lady parts - his not so tactful way of saying breasts - The way she's actin'. Yeah, she's pregnant."

Rick didn't respond right away.

"Is that true?" Shane asked; his words were more of an accusation than they were a question.

Rick ran rubbed his hands over his face shaking his head, "Yeah," he said.

"Shit," Shane said.

"Yeah," Rick glanced back towards the closed bathroom door. The room suddenly felt darker – lonelier.

"What are you gonna do?" The sometimes-tactless deputy asked his longtime friend.

"Don't know. Right now… she…she just wants to die," the words seemed to pierce his throat on their way out of his mouth.

"Might not be such a bad idea," Daryl said casually.

"What the fuck Dixon," Rick barked, turning his ire towards the owner.

"I mean like y'all starting over," he corrected, "that's what I meant." He said matter-of-factly before turning away from the others and wiping down the other side of the counter.

* * *

A/N: Thank you for reading. Let me know what you think.


	9. Chapter 9 - Ripples Become Waves

**Chapter 9 – Ripples Become Waves**

* * *

It had been two weeks since the persistent private investigator chose to tell Lori Grimes a made-up truth about her dearly departed husband.

The agency had already begun working on its newest case. Maggie took the helm and was spearheading the investigation.

Hershel had not completely given up on the Grimes/Anthony case - _Not by a long shot._

A few more pieces had fallen into place. He now had a complete picture; though where he would take that picture he was not quite sure.

He spent days flipping through the overly mussed and slightly frayed notes in his old pocket sized leather-bound carrier. Writing in notepads was a lost art. Maybe even an antiquated practice.

Most detectives these days used iPads or some other kind or tablet to track their thoughts and actions. Those new gadgets certainly made life easier; moved things along quicker. There was no real reason to use pen and paper any longer. There was no reason to flip through dirty paper and smudged notes. He was aware of these truths. Except…

There was no better way to follow his train of thought than the actual process of writing it down – cursive or script. The physical activity of putting pen to paper was more than just cathartic; it was usually the precursor to him discovering the truth. Sometimes he was sure that his right hand had a mind of its own. He'd look at the questions written on the paper or the postulated answers near the questions, and have no conscious idea of when those thoughts came to his mind. Writing allowed him to plot his way down a road that didn't seem to have a foreseeable finish line.

"Daddy…Noah is on the line," Beth said through the phone intercom.

The detective picked up the phone receiver, "Hey there young man. What can I do you for?"

"Hi Boss. How are you?" Noah asked.

"I'm good for an old man," he said, chuckling softly, "You have more info for me?"

"That I do," he began, "You asked me to keep an eye on the comings and goings of the people involved in the Grimes/Anthony accident. Wanted to let you know that Shane Walsh and Carol Peletier have flights booked to California. Different airlines...she leaves in two days, he leaves in three. Looks like the tickets were purchased about a month ago. It didn't set off any bells for me before initially because Dr. Peletier's travel was booked through the dental symposium that she works with. There's a group of dentist going. And Deputy Walsh's was a part of his transfer approval so I didn't connect that they would both be there at the same time."

"Southern California?" The gumshoe asked; incessantly piecing together this massive puzzle.

"Yes...Doctor Peletier is flying into San Diego. Deputy Walsh is flying into Los Angeles. They're about three hours apart, so it may not mean anything."

"Hmm," the detective began, "Where is Dr. Rhee's office located?"

"Give me a second," Noah said.

Hershel took a few sips of his cold water while he quickly looked over his notes. He was sure that Noah had already given him Glenn Rhee's address and he liked the idea of staying on top of things; he secretly loved how Noah and Maggie thought he had a brain like a steel trap.

"San Clemente," the young prodigy said after scanning his second monitor, "Ironically enough, it's the exact halfway mark between Los Angeles and San Diego...about an hour to an hour and a half between both.

"What about Sa..."

The young man interrupted, "Yes Unc, Sasha Williams lives in Southern California too," he laughed into the receiver…

"…Oh and I got the names and addresses that you asked for. I see where you're going with this. I feel like I'm constantly learning from you," he said laughing…

"…You. Are. Fire. Unc," the young man laughed.

"I actually don't know what that means, but I assume it's a good thing," the older man said, smiling to himself.

"Yes, it's definitely a compliment," Noah assured.

* * *

He refrained from answering the straightforward question posed by technically savvy protégé a few weeks ago, _"Are we thinking that something sinister happened here?"_ In all honesty, it was a question that he couldn't answer. There was definitely misdirection and some malfeasance. _But sinister?_ His gut was telling him that whatever happened was not sinister; he'd spent fifty years depending on his gut instincts. They had never let him down.

He parked his rental car, locked the door and crossed the street. With the exception neighborhood children playing in the distance, the area was quiet. The short white picket fence squeaked slightly as he opened, and then closed it.

Retired Detective Hershel Greene took a good look at the man standing before him. To a certain degree the beard disguised the face beneath. It was different than the clean-shaven face in the photo that the widow showed him just a few short weeks ago.

The beginning of grey shone proudly in both the hair on his face and the hair on his head. Hershel figured the sprinkling of grey strands had more to do with upending his life than it did with aging. The face was buried behind a full beard, and the hair was longer, but there was no mistaking the piercing cerulean eyes.

Rick stared at the man, his hand still resting on the door _. This is it. I can't let it happen. I can't let you ruin our lives. I need to get rid of you and get them the hell outta here. I don't wanna kill you, but I will._ The thoughts were quick, aberrant and disjointed; contradicting his heart but prevalent in his head. He leaned forward with a penetrating glare.

"That's not the kinda man that you are," the detective said, almost as if he could read the murderous thoughts of the uneasy man who had been declared dead nearly two years ago.

Hershel had done extensive research on the _deceased_ man. Rick Grimes had led an honorable and respectable life. He was no murderer.

Knowing that these words were true, Rick stepped aside; not saying a word.

* * *

The persistent private investigator stepped over the threshold and traversed into the somewhat noisy home.

It was a modest cream colored single dwelling house with blue shutters and two bedrooms. Noah had completed a property, rental, and deed search of everyone involved in the Grimes/Anthony case. This particular house, along with another house on the same street, was owned by Glenn Rhee.

A reasonable amount of apprehension, which the solo investigator should've had, was non-existent. The small part of his mind that said, _people react differently when they're cornered. And maybe even the most honest and nonviolent person will become the exact opposite when pushed,_ was a thought that he did not heed.

Hershel's eyes swept across the quaint front room. There was a 'Happy Birthday' banner strewn across the mantle over the fireplace. Balloons were stilled in mid-air throughout the room. Colorful prints hung on the walls; missing were family pictures and personalized certificates.

Quiet instantly overtook the room as all eyes fell on the newcomer. Smiling faces were replaced with distrustful scowls.

Seated in a blue floral Wingback chair was Dr. Carol Peletier, _Same rehearsed sugary smile; you're consistent if nothing else_. Standing a few feet from her, holding a plate with a half-eaten hotdog on it, was a morose solid looking Caucasian man with long dark-blonde unkempt hair, and a stubbly salt and pepper beard, _Daryl Dixon_ , Hershel rightly assumed. The only photo Noah had been able to find of the man was his driver license picture taken years ago.

On the opposite side of them was a young woman with medium length auburn hair and a face full of freckles, _Sophia Peletier_ , the detective figured.

Sitting on one end of the long dark blue couch was Deputy Shane Walsh, _same challenging stare_. In the deputy's arms was a small child. The little boy appeared to be around one year old; he had skin the color of a pecan, dark brown curly hair, and wide hazel eyes. He was wearing a matching blue short set. The baby was reaching for cake that Shane had in his other hand; giggling as he stuck pieces of the disassembled cake into his mouth.

Next to him was an attractive Black woman with coyly dark hair swept up into a high ponytail, _Sasha Williams._ The detective had seen several photos of her on both her social network pages as well as Michonne Anthony's defunct personal and professional networking pages; Maggie was able to tap into the inactive accounts without Noah's assistance.

Next to her, on the end of the couch, was a thirty-something Black man with a thin face and a short haircut, _Bob Stookey, Sasha's husband,_ Hershel assessed quickly.

Standing in-between the living room and the hallway, holding a can of soda and mad-dogging the investigator, was a young-looking Asian man, _Dr._ _Glenn Rhee_ , Hershel speedily determined.

After taking a moment to assess the room and its occupants, he walked towards the center of the room. Everyone remained silent as they watched the older man. Rick stayed on his heels. The swinging door that separates the kitchen from the living room opened; Michonne and Merle entered the packed room.

"Greene..." Merle announced, stopping in his tracks, "What The Hell."

Michonne came to an abrupt halt as well; her eyes narrowed with suspicion and fixed on the stranger. She held a little boy in her arms; his skin the color of mocha, his eyes dark green, and hair a little lighter, longer and not as curly as the other little boy. The small child stared directly into the retired detective's eyes, _into my soul._

In his mind Hershel could hear his mama's voice saying, _"Yep…he's been here before."_ That was her old southern way of saying that some babies were far older and wiser than their length of days on earth would suggest.

The intuitive investigator walked directly up to Michonne; ignoring the tension in the room. He extended his hand…

"It's a pleasure to finally meet you Mrs. Anthony," the dogged private eye said. It was the gentleness of his voice that stopped her from her initial panic – her need to flee.

Before she could speak, the little boy in her arms babbled something, and then reached for the older man. Rick stepped in front of the uninvited detective.

"No Andre," he said taking him from his wife's arms, "Come ta daddy, buddy." The friendly little boy happily went to his father, completely undeterred by the negative energy in the room.

Rick then turned and stared the older man down, _though Hershel had a good five inches on him_ , "Its Mrs. Stevens," he corrected, glaring at the presumptuous gray-haired man as he held his son.

"My apologies," Hershel said, looking back at the woman whose face he was very familiar with. He'd looked at several pictures of the dark-skinned beauty; campaign photos from when her husband ran for Congress, posed and candid shots on social media, even elementary school photos.

The hair was different – there were no more dread locs; she now had medium length reddish-wheat colored springy twists along the top and carefully tapered along the sides. The hair was most definitely different – didn't matter – the face was one he knew very well…

"Mrs. Melody Stevens I should say…" he smiled, taking a moment to look at the couple before him.

"John and Melody Stevens; originally from Tylertown, Mississippi; John and Melody Stevens who didn't actually exist until two years ago…though several records say different," he said; assuring them that he was well aware of the elaborate and intricate ruse.

"You've done your research obviously," Rick said, his contentious glare not abating as he bounced his squirming son.

Sasha stood quickly and rushed to her friends, "Let me have Andre, Rick," she said before correcting herself, "I mean…uh, _John,"_ she said, offering an apologetic smile to the ex-deputy. The exasperated father handed the baby to his friend.

"Thank you, Sasha," he said, stroking his son's back.

Hershel regarded the faces of the people in the room. If looks could kill he would certainly be six feet under right now. The only time he ever felt more unwelcomed by so many was years ago when he and his partner broke up a drug trafficking ring, _with the exception of baby Andre_ , he thought, smiling at the baby as he was whisked away by his protective auntie.

"Maybe we can have a seat," he said, glancing back at a very apprehensive _John Stevens_ /Rick Grimes.

Sasha had already retaken her seat between the two men on the couch. Andre was too busy grabbing potato chips off Bob's plate to pay attention to all the tension in the room.

The other little boy was playing with a toy as he sat on Deputy Walsh's lap; also unaffected by the antics of the adults.

"What exactly do you want Mr. Greene?" Shane was the first person to speak.

"I was hoping we could have a conversation, Deputy Walsh," the even-tempered detective responded as he took it upon himself to sit in a vacant folding chair near the kitchen door.

Rick/ _John_ , and Michonne/ _Melody_ sat on the edge of the couch. Michonne stood between her husband's legs. He wrapped his arms around her. Resting his hands just below her breasts. Hershel glanced down and saw that the new Mrs. Stevens was approximately five months pregnant, _Give or take a month_ , he thought.

Rick held her close; mindlessly caressing her stomach. His stance one of protecting both his wife and the child growing inside of her womb.

"Congratulations on the new addition to your family," the detective offered with a slight nod of his head and a gentle smile.

"Thank you," Michonne said, splaying her hands over her husbands.

"How long do we have before the police get here?" Rick asked; his eyes remained squinted and focused in the detective's direction. He was clearly uninterested in casual pleasantries.

The older investigator smiled and looked the determined man in the face, "I have not notified them yet," the retired detective told him honestly.

"Bullshit!" Shane shouted from the couch, causing the toddler in his arms to jump and begin to whimper.

"Shane!" Carol admonished, leaning forward; preparing to stand and take the baby from his arms.

"Sorry about that, Carl," he exclaimed with a sorrowful half-smile; kissing the little one on the cheek. He quickly began to bounce his knee to soothe the fidgety baby.

Sophia moved quickly towards the deputy before her mom could stand.

"I'll take him into the back, Deputy Walsh," she said, lifting the little boy from the deputy's arms.

Little Carl immediately began sucking the cookie that the pre-teen had in her hand.

Michonne leaned forward and kissed her son on his lips as Sophia walked past her. Rick reached up and stroked his sons face, "You be good for Sophia, okay." He also leaned forward and kissed his son.

"Da da da," Carl blabbered, grabbing at his fathers beard as he was carried out of the room by the young babysitter.

Everyone watched as Sophia and little Carl exited the room.

All eyes were again focused on the retired detective.

Hershel looked Shane in the face, "It's actually not bullshit young man," he said in the calm tone that was natural to him, "I have not contacted the authorities."

"It doesn't matter," Rick said, "Everyone in this room is here because of me. ME ALONE." He said emphatically as his eyes glanced around the room…

"…They're all here because I threatened and blackmailed them."

* * *

" _Don't let someone else's Irresponsibility Become Your Responsibility."_

 _That was a saying that her father had drilled into her. He made her recite it when she first started college and admitted that she'd gone out drinking with friends. She hadn't gotten drunk, so she appointed herself as her friends designated everything. In return for her good deed, she missed an important test in her 'Ramifications of Ethics' law class – no good deed goes unpunished, is what he mother would say._

" _Don't let someone else's irresponsibility become your responsibility," was her dads response. He was right. He was always right._

 _Wonder what he'd think now. What would he think? A handful of good people had made her irresponsibility their responsibility._

 _She stood silently as they planned her death. There's an odd feeling that comes over a person when you hear people speak of the end of your life so nonchalantly._

 _People plan their own funerals, and the funerals of their loved ones, all the time._

 _What does not happen all the time, is the planning of a fake death while also planning a Real life. That's what they were talking about. Planning for an actual life after a fake death._

 _Her hand was resting on Rick's shoulder, perusing the focused and intense faces of people she had known for only a few months._

 _They were talking and plotting as if this was just any other day; as if what they were planning wasn't punishable by either a loss of a career, imprisonment, or both._

 _She and Rick had made their irresponsibility the Responsibility of these willing individuals._

 _A dozen different thoughts rolled around in her head. When this was over she would no longer be Michonne Anthony._

* * *

"That's a damn lie," Daryl said. He sat his plate on the coffee table near where he stood.

"That's not even close to true, Detective Greene," Carol said, piggybacking on Daryl's comment; directing her remark to the older man.

" _John_ , we're not letting you lie," Shane added, "That ain't hap'nin."

Rick narrowed his eyes and looked back at the detective; ignoring the outburst of his friends

"The only person in this room that's going to jail is ME." He turned his eyes from the older man and glanced around the room; into the faces of the others to ensure that they heard what he said.

Michonne turned her head and looked the ex-deputy in the face, "You're not gonna do this, Rick," she said quietly. Not caring that it was the wrong name, _The jig is up anyway_.

"I'm not letting _you_ or our friends go to jail," he said quietly, leaning close to her ear, "This is on me. That's final."

"It's _not_ final My Love," she pulled her head away and looked into his eyes. She knew that determined look.

"Damn Right it ain't final," Shane said as he stood from the couch.

"I'm gonna hafta agree with the deputy," the temperamental trucker said, walking closer to the seated private investigator, "Ain't nobody breakin' up this little rainbow fam'ly," he stared down threateningly at the affable older man who was unfazed by the trucker.

"STOP IT MERLE," Michonne snapped at the grumpy teamster.

Sasha handed baby Andre to Bob and stood. She walked closer to her friends; partially blocking their view of the detective.

" _John_ …" their coyly haired friend began; half-plea half-dissent written in her facial expression.

"Sasha," Rick interrupted, "You and Bob are the only ones who aren't culpable in any of this. Whatever happens to me…I need the two of you to do what you promised. I'll do my best to try and keep anybody else from getting arrested…but…" he had to stop.

Merle had lied under oath and falsified his witness statement. Shane had deleted reports, falsified documents, and set up the _Stevens_ identity that his friends were now using. Both Carol and Glenn had filed falsified dental and medical reports. Daryl disabled Michonne's car the night of the 'accident' to fit the scenario they'd all worked out, and professionally staged the squad car explosion. Their actions could land them in jail; _All because they love us_ , was a thought that gave him many a sleepless night.

The truth was that he probably couldn't do anything to stop the law from going after each of them. He would take 100% of the blame…but in the end…there was not much he could do to save their careers or change the inevitability of their possible loss of freedom.

Unbeknownst to Michonne; this was a conversation that Rick had with Bob and Sasha on a few separate occasions. The discussions happened more often once they found out that the private investigator was looking into the accident.

Rick made them promise that if anything ever happened they would look out for his wife and kids. He'd found a small city in Mexico where they could live. He swore to Sasha that he would make sure Michonne never went to jail and was separated from the kids.

"Okay, _John_ ," Sasha said, putting her hands-on top of theirs as she glanced over at her husband. Her eyes dropped down to Andre who was sucking on soggy chips while also trying to reach the cake sitting on the coffee table. Bod nodded his head, indicating that he was all in.

"It's not okay," Glenn said from the hallway. He had been standing quietly. He looked past the others and directed his remarks to the detective.

"We're a family here Mr. Greene," he said with a slight hitch to his voice, "all of us in this room…we're a family. Lots of different things led to us being here…but this is where we are. A family."

He walked up to where Merle stood, "The family that I was born into stopped caring about me and the kind of person that I am…a long time ago. I don't know what your plans are, but YOU ARE NOT gonna do anything to change that." He wiped tears from his eyes. It was the most straightforward threat so far. It was less of a threat than it was a promise.

 _It's always the quiet ones_ , Hershel thought as he offered a soft smile to the grimacing young man.

Glenn was not like the other men in the room. He couldn't mask his emotions.

Merle and Daryl had softness beaten out of them at an early age. Life disguised as Joseph Deets made sure of it. Bob had been an EMT in the army and had learned many years ago how to mask all emotions. Through his service in the military Shane had learned to separate emotion from the mission. Rick was operating on a simple fight or flight basis right now. Glenn was not them.

Carol walked over to the young man and placed her hand on his arm.

Hershel sat quietly. He was not surprised by what was happening around him. These were people who had risked their careers and possibly their freedom for Rick Grimes and Michonne Anthony.

 _Maybe I underestimated everyone in this room_ … _or overestimated them_ , the thought came quickly. This was the first time it dawned on him that maybe he wouldn't make it out of the room in one piece. _The only thing that will keep these men from possibly killing me will undoubtedly be the lady of the house_. _She's the one I need to appeal to_. With that thought, he looked away from all the men and focused his eyes on the pregnant woman with tears rolling down her face.

The room was becoming increasingly stuffy; a combination of the warm California day and so many people in such close proximity. _It could also be the fact that most of the people in this room wanna kill me,_ the detective thought, while rubbing his hand over the back of his sticky neck. He gave the expectant mom his most fatherly smile.

" _Rick_ you ain't goin'ta jail," Shane said, his teeth and fists clenched. It was as much a declaration as it was another threat directed at the private investigator sitting just a few feet away.

That alone may have been the biggest threat. Walsh's use of the ex-deputy's real name was his way of saying that it wouldn't matter because _Dead Men Tell No Tales_. A slight chill went through the aging investigator. His confidence was not nearly as strong as it was when he walked through the front door.

"No he ain't," Daryl seconded Shane's veiled threat.

"Everyone needs to calm down," Carol said, as she saw tears slip down the dark beauties face.

Sasha turned and faced the partially-silver haired dentist, "Carol is right. Everybody needs to calm down."

Hershel continued to watch them, using this as his moment to interject; looking directly into Michonne's eyes, "I must agree with Dr. Peletier and Mrs. Stookey. If we could just have a conversation. Talk for a bit. I assure you that it's the best way to handle this," he was making his plea directly to the expectant mom.

"So we can sit here and wait for the cops to show up. HELL NO," Merle exclaimed.

"As I said Mr. Deets...I have not notified the police of any of this. I would appreciate if we could just have a conversation. I've travelled a pretty far way." he said, still using the soft calm tone that generally put most people at ease when they spoke with him.

"I believe you Mr. Greene," Michonne said, keeping her eyes trained on the eyes of the older man.

"Baby," Rick said, attempting to get her attention.

"I believe him honey. If he hasn't contacted the police, then there's no harm in us sitting here and having a conversation."

She looked around the room at her friends, "Everybody sit down…YOU TOO MERLE," she instructed.

No one argued, _with their words_ , but there was a discernible grumble in the room. After a few moments everyone was seated. Rick stayed in his half seated/ half standing position on the edge of the couch. Michonne remained standing nestled between his legs.

"I don't think we need to start at the beginning," Hershel began, "How about we just start with how you managed all of this. What led to it…"

Rick pulled his wife closer and placed a kiss on the back of her neck, "I love you more than life," he whispered, breathing in the sweet scent that always excited him.

No matter how many times he said it, she never got tired of hearing those words, "I love you too, baby," she whispered back, "We're gonna be okay."

Rick glanced over at the detective; the mild mannered older man sat quietly observing him and his wife.

"That's actually how it started detective," Rick said, "It happened because we fell in love with each other."

"We didn't plan it." Michonne added, looking away from Rick and into the warm eyes of the detective.

"If we could've stopped it…we _would_ have. The idea of involving the people that we love is not something that we took lightly."

"We did what we had to do," Carol said loudly from across the room.

"That's right…ain't got no regrets," Shane added.

"This here is my family," Daryl said, as he waved his hand around the room indicating that everybody in the room was his family, "Only family I ever really had."

"Same here," Shane added, "I don't have no regrets neither."

"Still," the lady of the house continued, "We never wanted to hurt anyone."

"That's right," Rick rubbed his wife's stomach and stared at the detective, "All of this was because we didn't wanna destroy Mike…and we didn't wanna destroy Lori."

"They didn't deserve that…" Michonne concurred as tears fell quietly.

"Baby," he stroked her arms, "Stop. I don't want you getting' all upset. It's not good for you or our little one." He moved his hands over her growing belly and kissed her cheek; her tears slowly coming to a stop.

"Michonne," Sasha said, looking her longtime friend in the face, "Rick's right. You can't beat yourself up over something that you can't change. We love you. We love these babies…" she stepped closer to the couple and rubbed Michonne's stomach, "There is _nothing_ to apologize for."

"She's right baby. We did this as much for _them_ as we did for us."

"A lot went into this," Hershel said, not ignoring what was being said but choosing to move the conversation along, "How about we start with that. Based on your love for each other and the ages of your children…twins I assume," he paused, "I _now_ have a pretty good answer to my question of the WHY. I've pieced together the how…but I would certainly love to hear it from you."

"I don't know what you're thinking Mr. Greene. I'm not sure what your plans are. We'll tell you about how we got here…but I need you to know this," she could feel emotions build; bubble up _, No more tears,_ she determined. Rick rubbed her flourishing body and moved his hands up her arms…

"We walked away from not just our lives…the six figure jobs and all the luxuries…we left behind our communities. My name…my name was a combination of both my grandmother's names. That meant something. Rick was named after his father…that meant something…" she stammered out the admission.

"Baby…it's okay," her husband assured her with another kiss on her cheek. She turned; giving him her sweetest smile of resolve.

"I know," she said softly, "it's just important that he knows who we are." She turned back to face the detective, while also glancing around the room at her friends and adopted family. The fact that they had all managed to find each other was almost as amazing as it was improbable.

"Detective. No decisions we made were easy. It wasn't simple. Every person in this room risked their freedom...their way of life for us...No...for something bigger than just us," her voice trembled.

She stopped for a moment; observing her younger twin whose face was covered with chocolate icing as he played with Bob's watch. Staring at this little person who had such an innate sweetness; like his brother. They both had an inherent amount of hope - without the ability to express it - they simply trusted that their parents would love and protect them.

She looked back at the determined private investigator, "It was scary the way everything fit together. Having never believed in serendipity before meeting Rick in such a random way…I can promise you that I became a true believe." She stopped when Rick leaned closer and gently kissed her neck. He kept his face buried in the warmth of her neck.

She smiled and then looked the retired detective back in the eyes, "Mr. Greene, before you make your decision...please listen with an open-heart."

* * *

A/N: Thank you so much for sticking with this story. I've done more tinkering with these last two chapters which has caused a delay in posting as timely as I'd planned. The final chapter will be posted soon. Blessings :-)


	10. Chapter 10 - A Place Called Home

**A/N:** Thank you all for the kind reviews and direct messages. My editing of this chapter turned into an almost total rewrite. It became somewhat overwhelming so I had to step away from it for a few weeks. The chapter is extremely long, the longest I've ever posted, but I wanted this final chapter to be very thorough. I really hope you enjoy...

* * *

 **Chapter 10 – A Place Called Home**

* * *

She turned on the faucet, bent over the basin, and splashed water on her face; rinsing away the remnants of tears and makeup. There was, however, no amount of water that could rinse away the pang of guilt that presently resided in her heart.

Raising her head from the sink, standing straight up, she pulled a paper towel from the roll sitting on the counter next to the sink. _I'm glad that Daryl at least invested in paper towels_ , the thought made the corners of her mouth turn up slightly as she patted her face.

Shaking her head at the memory of the words she'd said a few minutes earlier. _I don't wish I was dead_ , was the next thought that scurried through her brain as she took another disposable hand towel. She sat the roll back on the counter.

"I shouldn't've said that," her voice was soft and gravelly. She scrutinized the nearly unrecognizable reflection staring back at her. _But it's more than what people will think, or of losing respect. It's so much more than that._ The thought sent an unwelcome chill down her spine.

"That was seriously dramatic, Michonne," she sardonically chuckled at the woman looking back at her.

"Poor Rick. I'm sure you freaked him out, Counselor," she admonished the crestfallen reflection, and then shook her head grasping the sink with both hands before lowering her head again. Talking through her worries had been her mode of operating since grade school. After a few seconds her whispered declaration wafted into the air…

"I never want you to think that I don't want you," she placed her hand on her stomach and rubbed gently. Her eyes glanced downward before drifting back up to the mirror, "I love your dad…more than you could ever know," it was both an admission and an apology. There was a familiar flush rising in her face, _No more crying, Michonne. You need to get back out there. He's probably going crazy._

Turning away from the mirror, she ran her hands down the front of her blouse and glanced up to the ceiling. There was a small spider making its way across the wall. _I'd be happy to exchange lives with you at the moment_. Her laughter filled the intimate space as she turned around.

"I _do_ want you little one. I do. I swear. I've wanted to be a mother forever," she breathed, wiping away the tears that insisted on falling, "and you'll never have a better father than Rick…it's just…there's a lot that you don't know. I mean…I'm not married to your father. I'm married to someone else," it was a plea of understanding that she whispered. Her unborn child the clergy - the empty restroom her confessional.

"You'll be living proof of two people who not only didn't honor their vows…but people who also recklessly ruined the lives of others," the words were barely audible. As much as she hated to think of a child that she created with Rick as being a problem, _truthfully…that's what you are_. Guilt prevented her from saying the words out loud. _You'll always be the living proof of infidelity_. Her hand again rested on her flat abdomen.

"Guess that won't be flat for too much longer." A quiet dry laugh filled the tiny restroom. She looked in the mirror. The smile on her face didn't reach her eyes, and the laugh didn't reach her spirit.

"Your dad is amazing though," her voice was low and husky. A sound that was somewhere between a groan and a laugh accompanied the wide smile spread across her face at the thought of him.

Ricks attitude had not completely surprised her. They had spoken at length of having a life together. They had every intention of divorcing their spouses and finding peace in a marriage that they both believed was their destiny. _But not like this_.

"He never even considered that you might be Mike's. Never for a moment thought that you weren't his," with that declaration, she breathed deep. _Guess it makes sense._ She peered into the mirror which had a good amount of paint covering its edges. _He knows that Mike and I haven't had sex for months. But still. He never even considered...I mean…not even for a moment. He knows my heart so well…_

The vision of her well-defined man in his Sheriff's Deputy uniform, _that fits him so well it should be a sin just for him to walk around in public_ , the most beautiful azure eyes, and strong hands, flashed in her mind's eye – she grinned. _Damn the man is beautiful._

"From the moment your dad and I met…I was a goner. Who could blame me?" she laughed lightly at the rhetorical question that was more of a stated assertion. There was more joy and less sadness in this laugh.

Eyeing her reflection in the discolored glass, "He and I were meant to be together. I wasn't exaggerating when I said he's amazing. I'm just…really sorry that you'll be caught up in all our mess." Those words – the apology – though offering no definitive answer, were the last words of apology she'd offer, _to anyone…I'm through with being sorry. I'm through with feeling sorry for myself. You're mine…and your dads little baby._ Her hand mindlessly landed on her stomach.

It was time to stop hiding in the bathroom. It was time to face this head on. After tossing the crumpled paper into the receptacle, glancing at her mildly swollen makeup-free face in the mirror, she grasped the door handle, "Time to face the music, whatever that music might be."

The words were quietly exhaled as she re-entered the bar. Her eyes adjusted to the room which seemed even dimmer than usual. Rick, Daryl, Shane and Carol were standing by the bar having a heated discussion which was masked by the hum of the air conditioner.

* * *

x - x -x - x

* * *

She smiled, looking the retired detective in the eyes, "Mr. Greene, before you make your decision, please listen with an open-heart," her voice was softly adamant. The determination etched on her face left no room for doubt that this was more of a demand than a request.

The room suddenly seemed smaller than its actual square footage. Hotter too. He gingerly yanked at his collar…

"I _can_ listen with and open mind, as well as an open heart, Mrs. Stevens," Hershel assured, sitting back in his chair, and undoing the top button on his shirt. His eyes remained focused on the expectant mom in front of him. Though he could hear a few whispered words from the others in the room, his eye contact on the woman in front of him did not waver.

Michonne nodded at his reply to her request. Rick squeezed her shoulders.

"I'm not here to judge you. I am no longer a man of the law…though I will always be a man who follows the law. I'm a private investigator who answers to my clients," the older man said. The implication buried in his words were clear to all in the room.

Rick felt his wife shift in his arms. Her body instantly became tense and stiff as her mood quickly changed. He peripherally saw the gentle smile drop from her face.

"I understand what you're sayin'…" Rick acknowledged, rubbing Michonne's belly-bump. He raised her hand to his mouth and lightly kissed it before continuing, "So you're plannin'…"

"You're plannin' on tellin' Lori?!" Shane asked and reprimanded, cutting Rick off mid-sentence.

All eyes landed on the deputy who was sitting on the couch with his knee anxiously bouncing. His hands were balled, and his lips drawn back in a snarl.

"Shane," Rick snapped. He'd spent the better part of his adult life reeling in his friends temper. Always attempting to stamp down the – act first – think third – type of behavior that generally landed Sheriff's Deputy Walsh in hot water.

"Naw man. I'm just askin'," he looked from his friend to the older investigator, "I mean, she's the one who hired 'em. We need'ta know. Ain't no tellin' what Lori'll do," the snarl became more pronounced as his words were said to Rick; his eyes however didn't leave Hershel's.

 _There's that mad-dogging_ , "You know Deputy," Hershel said softly, his light eyes staring back at the challenging set of dark eyes trained on him, "It was my meeting with you that first made me consider that there may possibly be more to the accident than what appeared on paper…"

" _Bullshit_!" Shane barked the compound expletive that appeared to be his go-to retort.

Hershel chuckled at the younger man, "You see, every good man who has a good friend – a _true blue_ , stand in front of the firing squad together, kinda friend – can recognize that in others. A friend that'll do whatever they have to do…even skirting the law…if they have to. I saw that in you," he chuckled, "I've been lucky enough to have a friend like that for my entire adult life. He'd do anything for me…" a smile forced itself onto his face as he thought about Dale. His friend of over half a century had thrown himself on many a metaphorical grenade with him, and for him.

"That didn't give nothin' away," Shane countered, the words popping angrily from his mouth.

"You said that…" the modestly-brilliant detective reached into his pocket, pulled out his weathered notebook, and flipped through the pages, " _He ain't that kinda man_ , you said" he spoke low and clear, looking back at the flustered deputy, "and I got the feeling that you were talking about the present as well as the past. Once it was obvious that you were the kinda man who'd stand in the fire for his best friend…I just needed to figure out why all the subterfuge."

The wind was knocked out of Shane's sail. His hands unclenched, and his snarl softened. He cleared his throat. No words followed. Hershel inwardly grinned at the look of unwanted humility on the deputy's face. The expression was out of place on the face of a man who undoubtedly prided himself on his cockiness.

As silence consumed the room, Hershel took the time to thumb through his notebook before directing his attention back on the couple that he'd gone there to meet. The couple that painstakingly faked their death two years ago.

Hershel looked up from his notepad, regarding the couple, "Actually…"

Michonne interrupted, "It was selfish. It was a selfish thought and a selfish need. The idea of re-writing something that's already been stapled, three-hole punched, and placed into a binder. It was a selfish need to want to change history. But that's what we wanted. Unlike most people who wish to right the wrongs of their life, someone or something in its infinite wisdom had given us the opportunity to do just that…" she breathed as her quiet utterance overtook the room. Rick began to rub her back while she took a breath…

She gazed around the room at the faces of those giving her their full attention. With the exception of Andre's intermittent babbling and the soft jazz coming from a speaker in the corner behind Carol, the room was quiet. Throughout her career she'd argued more cases than she could remember _, this is the most important argument I'll ever make_ , she exhaled as the transient thought retreated.

Her eyes, again, focused on the investigator, "What are the chances of falling in love with a man who has a good friend whose business has no cameras anywhere in sight? Of having a Dental Forensic Scientist as a friend…or having a longtime friend who works with the Medical Examiner's Office?" She wiped her hand across her forehead and let out a quiet joyless chuckle at the rhetorical question…

"…Probably the same chances of falling in love with a Sheriff's Deputy that has a best friend who can redirect files…" she continued.

"Chonne," Daryl interrupted, "You don't need to be tellin' him all that." His voice was low and measured. His pleading scowl went from the speaker to her husband whose legs she was still half-sitting in.

"He's right," Shane added; also looking to Rick for assistance.

"If I'm gonna tell it, then I'm gonna tell it all," she said to the others in the room. Not directly responding to Daryl or Shane.

"Why, Baby?" Rick asked quietly, giving her a careful nudge so that she would turn her head towards him.

The new Mrs. Stevens twisted to face her husband, "Because we had to tell a lot of lies to get here. We had to build a life with our kids out of lies," she breathed deep shaking her head, "I just don't want this one to start life with any more lies than she has to..." she rested her hand gently on her stomach.

"…There's already so many things that we can't tell them…so when there's a chance to be honest, I wanna be. We've lived like outlaws since Carl and Andre were born. We don't even have their pictures on the wall. I…I just want to…" her breathing quickened for a moment before finding its regular pace, "…not be so worried all the time." She glanced down at her stomach and softly rolled her hands down its swell.

Rick kissed her cheek. There were several aspects about her personality that he'd learned over the past two years. Along with being passionate about everything from food to politics, she was extremely headstrong. Once her mind set on something, there was no changing it. A dog with a bone would be an understated analogy when it came to her tenaciousness. He found that out when they went shopping for household and baby items after getting to California. Several salespeople found out the exact same thing.

"Okay, sweetheart. I'm sorry," his voice was low as he acquiesced; again resting his hands on top of hers and directing his attention back towards the older man.

"I appreciate your honesty," Hershel broke into the private conversation, "I wanna assure you that yours was not an easy trail to follow. You all did a remarkable job of covering your tracks," his lips imperceptibly turned up at the irony in his humble assertion.

"Didn't stop you from figuring everything out in a few weeks time," Carol voiced the obvious contradiction in his words.

The investigator turned his head towards the no-nonsense silver haired dentist, "Well, Dr. Peletier. I had a hunch that I followed. Can't say that others would."

"So, you're just that good," Merle scoffed at the retired detective.

The corners of the investigators mouth lifted into a gentle smirk. One of his brows rose as he stared back at the trucker. Hershel allowed his facial expression to humbly answer the stated question. He twisted his head back in the direction of the couple.

"I won't pretend to be anything other than what I am," Michonne continued, "I made a lot of mistakes in my life, maybe now is where I have to own up to them…"

"Micho…Melody," Sasha, still struggling with the proper name usage, piped in from across the room."

"No, Sasha, let me finish," she said, not taking her eyes off of the white haired gentleman observing her…

"…I wanted to walk out of my life…not just because I fell in love with Rick, and not just because of our children, it was honestly never my life. I loved my parents…like most people I wanted to please them. So I did what they wanted. I was good at what I did because I always felt that I needed to prove something to everyone. I needed to make my parents proud. I married Mike because my parents liked him and I always wanted to do the right thing. It wasn't until I met Rick that I realized everything I ever thought…everything was a lie…"

"That's not true," Sasha said shaking her head, "I was a part of your life. It wasn't a lie."

"Sash…"

"No. Now you let _me_ finish," she pointed her index finger to her chest to emphasize the directive. The room was still as the staring brown eyed duel of the two best friends ensued. Their non-verbal confrontation lasted only seconds before Sasha powered on…

"You were never really happy, I knew that. Bob and I talked about it a lot…but don't say your life was a lie. I was a part of that life with you, and it wasn't a lie.

"That's not what I meant, Sasha," Michonne challenged.

"I know what you meant. That's fine. But I'm not gonna let you write off everything you did…everything that you created as a lie. I was a part of that life…"

"Sasha—"

"I've accepted that Bob and I weren't a part of all the planning…" she waved her hand almost dismissively around the room.

Her exclusion from the planning of the fake death was an unspoken point of contention between the two women for months after they reunited in California. As planned, Carol contacted Sasha under the guise of business related to Michael Anthony's campaign…

" _Hi Ms. Williams. I'm Carol Peletier. We met at the Anthony Campaign Headquarters Office a little while back. Um, do you have a minute? I have something to tell you that you may not believe at first…however, let me assure you that it's probably one of the most important things you'll ever hear. It will change your life forever._ "

"…But that life…that life that you had before, was no more of a lie than this…than this one was is…" her voice quivered. Bob rubbed his wife's leg as she wiped away the few tears on her face.

"It's just two different lives. Two different realities. This one suits you better that's all," Carol softly interjected, piggy backing on Sasha's words; her head ping-ponging between the two women.

Michonne and Sasha kept their eyes on each other. Everyone else in the room faded far into the background. The years of their intimate sister-friend relationship clearly evident. They'd been through every high and low point of their lives together. No hurdle ever made them stumble as long as they stuck together.

"The life you have now is the life that I believe you were meant to have," the determined coyly haired woman continued, "but I'm not gonna let you just discount the one you had before. I was there. I was a witness to it. You helped people. You made a difference in people's lives for the better. You were a good friend to everyone who ever needed you. That's not something that needs to be rewritten or forgotten." Her words dead ended. The remainder of what she needed to say was conveyed with her eyes.

The room was silent. Everyone watched the longtime friends again communicate without words. They both wiped away tears while their husbands tended to them with light squeezes and soft caresses.

Michonne ended the stand-off, "I'm sorry Sash…I…"

"Don't be sorry. Just…I don't want you to change history. Rewrite the future, not the past," Bob rubbed her leg as she offered a soft smile to her ride-or-die, "Okay?"

"Y-yeah…Okay."

"Ahem," Hershel cleared his throat rather loudly, breaking the mildly consuming tension in the room, "I appreciate everyone's honesty and candor."

Everyone's attention was again directed towards the visitor.

"You know Mrs. Stevens," he gave her the same fatherly look that he gave to his own daughters, "More than one thing can be true," the wise detective told her.

 _That's exactly what Professor Rovia used to say_. The thought of her favorite law professor brought a lingering smile to her face, "I know," she said.

* * *

x - x - x - x

* * *

It didn't take long before a simple offhanded statement became an active goal. Their initial meeting on the side of the road gave Rick an idea. They could use a similar scenario as the set up to stage their death. There were many facets to the plan. If there was ever a time where the stars needed to align, now would be that time.

Once both Rick and Michonne resigned themselves to this being the only answer to their problem – _short of ruining everyone's lives_ – everything began to fall into place. It was a serendipitous.

"If we really want to do this it should be in three months. Dr. Jenkins goes on vacation on March 12th." Carol turned and looked at Michonne, her eyes dropping to her friend's stomach, and then back up to her eyes, "we probably won't have much more time than that before you start to show," the women's eyes connected. Rick reached over and touched his lover's hand.

The softness of Carol's expression, and the kindness in her eyes, brought a small smile to Michonne's face. She nodded a silent response to the very direct, no nonsense woman.

"Okay," Shane said, "then let's work out the timeline."

The first night that they worked on the plan was almost like planning a party. As serious and sobering as the situation was, they still managed to have a few laughs.

"This is some wild shit," Shane had remarked on their second day of planning, which garnered a five minute laugh-o-rama.

"A lot of this is gonna be dependent on your friend Glenn," Rick said, "do you think that he's really gonna be willing to do this?" The question had come up a few other times and her answer never changed.

"He'll do it. Without question."

Michonne and in Glenn did not speak often. Their bond didn't need daily, weekly, monthly, or even yearly assurance. They had an unspoken agreement; a whispered secret between friends. She never asked him for anything, but at the same time, she knew that he'd do anything for her. Since their interactions were both infrequent and done in quasi-secrecy, there was no record of their connection. No documented evidence of their relationship. It was the perfect plan.

"I think that there should be another plan just in case the good doctor is not willing to do this. It means puttin' his entire livelihood at risk," Shane's brows lifted as he directed the comment to Rick.

"Yeah, but once she asks him, he'll know what this is about. Will he be able to keep his mouth closed?" They all took note of Daryl's stated warning. Their eyes all casually drifted in the direction of the mildly flustered attorney.

"Even if he doesn't agree to do it, I know, with everything in me, that he would never tell what he knows to anybody." As the words left her mouth she took a deep breath. _I know Glenn_. _Our friendship may seem strange to most people, probably to most of you…but I know him._ The thought was clear and steadfast as the look of skepticism on the faces of everyone on the room was pervasive.

"I'm sure. Trust me." she affirmed, turning to look into Rick's eyes.

Glenn wouldn't hurt her. He never said the actual words, but her young Korean friend loved her unconditionally. It was a certainty that she knew from the depths of her heart. Theirs was a sibling love sans any hint of a shared blood lineage. She had become his real world big sister, just as he had become her little brother. His concern about blowback from the use of his last name was the only thing that kept them from being closer.

"I'll pick up a couple of throwaway phones. You can give him a call on that," Rick said.

"Thank you for trusting me," she softly stated with both her words, and large smile that reached her eyes; crinkling them at the corners. If this was the first true test of their ability to believe and trust in one another, he'd just passed the test with flying colors.

"What about Merle?" Carol asked, directing everyone's attention to Daryl, "Do you think he'll do it? A lot of what we're planning is gonna be dependent on him."

"Yeah, he'll do it. Anytime he can stick it to the man…whoever the man is…he'll do it."

"I hope so," Shane interjected, "once we get, uh, the appropriate corpses from Michonne's doctor friend, he's gonna need him to put the tattoo on the Rick body as quick as possible."

The unidentified bodies would be taken from the morgue and placed in Daryl's deep freezer. Their wedding bands would be placed on the fingers before being frozen. They would later be positioned in the front seat of Rick's squad car where their second death would be a fiery one.

Merle picked up several skills during his time in the various White Separatists' groups he'd been a part of in his previous life. Most of the talents fell into the useless category; like making cool hand shadow animals. Learning the many facets of tattoo artistry, and how to duplicate an uncomplicated design, were a few talents that fell into the _very_ useful category.

" _It's the most powerful tool on your tool belt, Merle. As long as you can sling that ink properly, you'll always eat," his old mentor Chuck assured him._

"You think he'll be okay with, um, doing that?" Michonne asked Daryl.

She had not yet met the trucker. Truth be known, she wasn't really looking forward to the introduction. Rick had informed her of his past, and a big part of her believed that a tiger can't change its stripes. You can slap a coat of paint over them, but underneath the fresh paint, still lay the same unchanged stripes.

Time and loyalty would prove her initial thoughts and assumptions to be utterly false.

"He'll do it. Probably been waitin' his whole backwards life for somethin' like this. I'll call 'em tomorrow. Tell 'em-ta come by."

"Remember not to talk about it over the phone."

"I ain't no dummy doctor," he glared at Carol.

"Nobody said you were. It's just a reminder Mr. Dixon," she returned his glared; including a half-smile to her poker face. It was the closest they generally came to flirting.

The remainder of the planning session was like that of a strategy meeting for a college chess tournament. _If this happens, then we do that. If that happens, then we do this._ They all agreed to meet back the following week to better flesh out the plan. By the time the deputy walked the attorney to her car, they'd drawn up a sketchy outline for their untimely death - and their new life.

"Are you sure that this is what you want? It's not too late to change your mind," he kept his eyes on her as the words left his mouth.

"I can't say that I am really ready for this. I don't know if this is a dream or if it's a nightmare," she told him honestly as he stroked her cheek. He leaned closer to her and lightly kissed her lips.

"We haven't done anything yet. There's always divorce," Rick said, slightly tilting his head and plastering a somewhat sincere smile on his face.

"I know there is. Maybe this is the coward's way out. I can admit that. But I think this is the best option."

"You're not a coward. I don't wanna hear you say that. You've been brave your whole life. You've worked for others your whole life. And what we're about to do now is anything but cowardly." He pressed himself firmly against her and walked forward until the backs of her legs bumped the car. He took her into his arms. "There's nothing wrong with wanting a new life," he said quietly into her ear. The spicy scent of his cologne ignited a flurry of electrical currents down to her nether regions, "I love you so much, Rick…more than I thought was possible." He held her tighter.

"I love you too, baby." His desire for her was now apparent. He attempted to adjust his stance as his restrained erection pressed into her midsection. _It's been more than two weeks. Now's not the time, but god I miss being inside of you. They'll be plenty of time for that. Stop thinking like a horny teen, Rick._ He shrugged off the thought and kissed her cheek.

They stood quietly as the soft breeze of the night blew by. She drew her head back and scrutinized his face.

"I'm surprised that this seems so…" she hesitated for a moment; watching a smile illuminate his face, "I don't know…It seems so easy for you. You keep asking me how I feel, but you're going to be walking away from your entire life too. How is it so easy for you?"

He backed away from her and ran his hand through his hair.

"I've been phoning in my life for a lot of years. I've done what's been expected of me from the time I was in elementary school. I became a Sheriff's Deputy because that's what my dad did. I married Lori because that's what was expected of me. It wasn't until I met you that I realized everything I had done up until that point was for other people…" They smiled at each other. His story was nearly identical to hers.

"It's amazing how alike we are," she said, reaching out and touching his face.

"You're my world Michonne. I can't imagine a life without you," he laughed, shaking and bowing his head.

"What's funny," she smacked his arm.

"It's just that, well, you know how I am about gushy sappy movies. That sounded like a line from one of those Lifetime movies _you_ like."

"I guess it did," she laughed.

"But it's true. I'd give up everything for you. For our baby. Our family...a hundred times if I could."

She stopped laughing. The fire in his blue eyes set her heart a flutter. He stepped closer to her, not breaking eye contact.

"The truth is that, I'd be fine with a divorce. I don't wanna hurt Lori. I really don't. She doesn't deserve that." He stopped; staring past her into the open darkness of the night.

She squinted and tilted her head slightly, "What is it Rick? Tell me."

"Just thinkin' about my daddy," he chuckled; surveying the landscape a very distant past, "he always used to say… _Son, don't try to grow anything fresh from earth that's been scorched. Even if something grows, eventually the remnants of that scorched earth will be evident in what blooms_ ," he mimicked his father's voice by lowering the intonation in his voice a few octaves.

"Your dad sounds like he was pretty smart."

"Yeah he was," he brought his eyes back to hers, "Guess maybe I'm a little more conflicted than I thought."

"Sounds like it," she said offering a little smile, "that makes me kinda happy. At least I know we're feeling the same way."

"We are. I don't want us to start our life, and our baby's life, in a world where we've left scorched earth behind us. This might not be the best solution, but at least it means a fresh start…for all of us."

He leaned in and kissed her lips, "I really do like the idea of starting fresh," he whispered over her lips.

"Me too," her agreement was coupled with a soft touch to his face. The warmth of his breath, tinged with the scent of his previously consumed brew, washed over her.

"Are you sure?" He asked, ever mindful of her facial expression.

"I ache for you Rick. You're the part of my heart that's been missing my whole life. So yes. I'm sure. I wasn't before. But I am now," her brown eyes twinkled; rivaling the twinkling stars above them, "so stop asking."

She gave him the once-over before directing a discerning leer and a small pout his way.

"You are so cute," his kissed her pouting lips.

"I don't know if this will work," his smile was less pronounced, "but the idea of being with you, not just one day a week, is all I can think of. Waking up with you every day. Holding you every day. And all the things we'll do every day," he slipped his hand down her back and rubbed her addicting rounded rear.

"You are _so_ bad," she smacked his hand.

"And you love it. Stop actin' like you don't," he squeezed the jean clad flesh.

"What am I gonna do with you?"

"Marry me."

The words left his mouth before he realized what he said. _Dammit, what did I say? That's not how I wanted to ask you._ He ran his hands over his face and made an attempt at an apologetic smile.

"Um, huh…What did…" she stammered; studying him.

"That's not how I wanted to do that. It…well, it just dawned on me that we're plannin' a life together. A family together. And I never asked you to be my wife. I shouldn't've assumed that you'd want to be…"

Her lips were on his before he could finish.

"Can I take that as a yes?" He mumbled, attempting to momentarily break out of the lip lock.

"Yes," she kissed him again, "Yes you can. I will definitely marry you."

"That's what we're gonna do. As soon as we get settled," his tone was low and slightly rough.

"Really?"

"Yes. I'm not sure what name we'll be usin'. Hopefully Shane finds us somethin' good."

"I like Madonna, Beyoncé, Cher…" she grinned, beholding his gaze.

"Okay. I see a pattern here. We'll see what we can do," he let out a soft raspy chuckle.

Shane had already begun a very low-key search of both death and birth records, using FBI software that King County Sheriff's Department had access to. Deputy Walsh spent so much time assigned to desk duty, courtesy of his regular run-ins with IAB, that he'd become incredibly adept at computer archive research.

"I just wanna be your wife…I don't care what my n-name is…" she was suddenly overwrought at the thought of not hiding or sneaking around _, I'll be your wife_. Tears noiselessly fell down her face.

"I know beautiful," he leaned forward to better see her eyes, "I intend to spend the rest of my life taking care of you and our baby."

"Okay," she sniffled.

"Um, don't get all excited. Did I mention that I'd like four kids?" He grinned; hoping to make her smile.

"N-no. Y-you didn't mention t-that," tears shone in her eyes as she stammered out the handful of words.

"Well I do. So, until I can spend every day taking care of you, I just want you to take care of yourself, and our little baby…" he placed his hand on her stomach before continuing…

"…Thank you for our baby. I swear I'm gonna take care of you both." She placed her hand on top of his.

"I know you will. And I'm gonna take care of you too."

The ensuing week was wrought with a flurry of activity. Both Rick and Michonne began the process of carefully cataloging what they owned and what they would be leaving behind. It was Carol's idea to begin making copies of photos that they wanted to have. _"…That way you can have the pictures you want without taking the original."_

They both also began setting aside cash that wouldn't be missed. With Lori primarily at her parent's house, and Mike in the nation's capital, the tasks aimed at their larger goal, was relatively easy to accomplish.

There were more than half a dozen cars in the parking lot of _Dix Tri Fecta_ on the crisp winter night. A closed sign hung on the door of the bar. A 'We'll be back soon' sign was on the large garage door which sat next to the bar.

Inside the small tavern, the group of law abiding citizens was gathered. The skilled professionals sat around the table and laid out a plan that involved breaking over a dozen laws.

Rick had the nondescript cell phone delivered to Michonne's office via FedEx days after the initial conversation. It was delivered in her name from the King County Sheriff's Department. She worked closely with the department, so no one thought twice when it was received by her assistant.

She took a deep breath before calling Glenn; rolling over and over in her mind what she would say – what he might say. Acutely aware that she couldn't say too much over the phone.

 _"Glenn, it's Michonne, I need your help." He didn't hesitate in response, which was simply, "Tell me where and when and I'll be there."_

* * *

x - x - x - x

* * *

"Ma-ma," Andre's uttered whine from the couch broke the ensuing silence in the room following his mother's candid words. He was squirming in Bob's lap.

"M a m a…" the toddler repeated his request, stretching out the word while reaching in the direction of his mother.

"It's okay Dre Dre," Bob assured the fussy baby; glancing at Rick and Michonne with an apologetic half-smile as he bounced his leg.

The summoned mom stepped away from her husband and ambled quickly towards the couch. Andre jumped into her arms as she came to a stop in front of him.

"Andre, you can't jump on mama like that," Sasha softly admonished the baby as she stood and stroked his hair.

Andre replied by gripping his mother tighter. He pressed his face against her neck before burying it in her ample bosom and transferring a good amount of chocolate icing to her top. Rick strode over to the small gathering.

"He probably has a little tummy ache from all the goodies he's been sitting over here eating," Michonne said, looking past the baby in her arms. She cocked her eyebrow with a playful glare directed at her best friend's husband.

"Sorry," Bob said, throwing his hands up in surrender, "the kid likes his cake…what can I say!?" He shrugged his shoulders and offered a goofy grin.

"It's okay," the wobbly mom smiled at him, "he just needed his mama."

"Sweetheart, let me have 'em. You have to stop carryin' them around," Rick instructed, attempting to take the child in question into his arms.

"Rick…" it came out as part whine, part frustration. Andre's grip steeled.

"Don't _Rick_ me. You can't keep carryin' them around." His head cocked to the side, ignoring her glare. He also ignored the side-eyed glare his son gave him.

"And don't you give me that look either young man," he both acknowledged and ignored his son's scrunched face while assertively taking him from his mother's arms. The baby begrudgingly went to his father. His glaringly sour facial expression caused his parents to giggle.

"You are certainly your mother's child," Rick said; brushing his son's hair back with his hand and kissing his forehead.

"What's that supposed to mean?" She tilted her head and stared at him wide-eyed.

"The boy's as stubborn as you. Always sayin' _No_ ," Merle added from where he sat near the kitchen door. The words were leaving his mouth as he began his trek deeper into the living room where everyone, except the detective, was now congregating.

"That's cuz he knows you're a dumbass," Daryl mumbled.

"Stop using those words around him Daryl. He's smart. I don't want the first words he starts saying to be bad words," Carol admonished with her narrowed eyes burning a hole into the bar owner.

"That ain't his first words anyway. Both he and Carl say _No_ all the time. That's our thing," Merle's point was made when he took Andre's hand…

" _No_ ," the toddler said smacking at the teamsters fingers before shaking his head.

The room erupted in laughter.

"Hey little guy. I guarantee you...I'm gonna be yours and your brother's best and most favorite uncle when you get older," Merle looked in the baby's eyes as the laughter died down; a corner of his mouth lifted, "Imma let you hang out and have the fun that these prudes won't." The toddler waved his hands and giggled at the adults.

"Uh, these prudes are standing right here. Stop promising my baby crazy things," Michonne grimaced at the trucker.

"You know you love me."

"That may or may not be the case. I _shant_ confirm either way," the ex-counselor grinned, "it still doesn't change what I said."

"That's right Merle. You're not comin' anywhere near my boys with your bad habits. Plus, I'd feel bad if my wife killed you," Rick said, switching Andre to his other arm, "for teachin' them your inappropriate ways."

"Rick's right," Glenn said, "You have horrible habits."

" _What_?" Merle twisted his head to face the young doctor, "Didn't I stop callin' you Chinaman? Gimme some credit," he huffed with a smirk; his own facial calling card.

"Whatever, Merle," the young doctor shook his head. He sucked in a breath.

The trucker was willfully and actively ignorant. He prided himself on being ignorant, just like Shane prided himself on being cocky. He was the epitome of the uncle that you hide in the basement when people come to visit because you know he's going to say something completely inappropriate. He drove them all so crazy that sometimes they just wanted to scream for mercy. Then, the dust would settle, and they realized that not only did they love the man; they didn't want a world without his honest, but completely politically-incorrect, type of integrity.

"Merle's an idiot," Shane rightly alleged with a stoic face that could hold a mountain of secrets, "but you suck as a babysitter, dude. Look at my little nephew's face," he scoffed at Bob.

"Said by the same guy whose curse words sent little Carl off crying," Bob shot back.

"Neither one of you will win a babysitter award," Carol said. They all looked over at the grey-haired woman who didn't crack a smile, yet everyone began to laugh. The laughter led to a debate about whose babysitting prowess was best.

A few minutes into the debate Sophia padded into the room with Carl in her arms.

"Ma ma," Carl said clear and loud as his parents came into view. Michonne outstretched her arms…

"Come to mama, baby."

"No," Sasha stood, "You come to Auntie Sasha. Your mommy can't keep holding you." She said with a wink at Rick, and a disapproving shake of the head at the expectant mom.

* * *

x - x - x - x

* * *

It was just over one month into the planning.

"…I think California is the best place," Glenn said as the discussion had become heated with disagreements and suggestions. The places currently on the table for Rick and Michonne to settle down in were Canada, Mexico, California, or the Bahamas.

"I'm taking over a small practice there. It's near the border should it be necessary for them to leave the country in a hurry. I put an offer down on a house. There's one on the same block that I can make an offer on too. The seller is motivated, so I think they'll accept the offer and escrow will close quickly. Which means they…" he waved his hand in the direction of his longtime friend and her beau, "won't have to worry about a place to live. Michonne can work with me in my back office...taking care of all my accounting. That's one of the jobs she had in college…"

The doctor made his argument. _Yep, I remember you telling me that_ , he smiled at the thought, turning to offer Michonne a very toothy grin. His eyes glinting with satisfaction. _That's right. I know you better, and way longer than anyone else in this room._ He was by no means a boastful man, but his chest did puff out just the slightest bit at his presumed besting of all the men in the room.

"…I think it's the best option," the insistent doctor let out a long breath at the end of his summation.

"Alright. I give up. The doc has a point," Shane finally relented. His vote was for Canada. It was, however, hard to argue with ready-made housing 3,000 miles from Georgia, and yet still in the country.

"Good," Daryl said, "glad that shit is settled."

The conversation continued with everyone adding their own specialized piece of the puzzle. Smaller exchanges within the larger group dynamic popped up.

Merle insisted that Glenn's family was from the huge 'continent' of China. That tidbit of misinformation led to an impromptu Geography 101 lesson taught by Dr. Rhee.

Shane and Daryl got into a debate about the makings of a 'primo' god father. Rick was forced to moderate, concluding that both men were wrong and had no clue what they were talking about.

"Carol," Michonne called across the table to the older woman.

Carol walked to where the soon-to-be 'deceased' Michonne Anthony stood.

"Yes, sweetie," the grey-haired Odonatologist said.

"All of this started so fast. It's been like a steamroller," Michonne chuckled softly, "and I never really had a chance to thank you for everything..."

"There's no thanks necessary."

"I appreciate that. You've been amazing…beyond amazing," she reached over and squeezed her new friend's slender shoulder.

"It has been something, hasn't it?" Her bluish-green eyes sparkled.

"Yes it has," Michonne's face brightened as she agreed, "I just…had a question."

"What's your question little mama?" her unrehearsed, genuine smile swept over the newly expectant woman.

"Why…why are you doing this? I mean you're risking so much. I know that you were good friends with Daryl, and that you're friends with Rick…and that we've become friends. I really consider you one of the best friends that I've ever had...even though I've only known you for a few months now. But why?"

Carol didn't answer right away. There was no singular answer to the question. For seconds upon second she didn't answer – until she did. Just one word...

"Because." She said emphatically. That was it. No words or complete sentences followed the one word answer. To the attorney, like most in her profession, words were a powerful tool. She waited a moment, and when the one word stood in the air by itself, she had to ask.

"What does that mean; _Because_?"

Carol blew out a soft breath. She squeezed her eyes shut, before slowly opening them; adding a faint smile.

"Because…" her hands rested on her lithe hips, "Because I like Rick a lot. Because I like you a lot. Because I think that you're a sweet lady. Because you and Rick are good together. Because the idea of a child being born out of nothing but deep love and true sacrifice makes me smile, while also making me sad that my daughter wasn't." She breathed…

"…Because I don't want your child to ever be looked at as some kinda mistake. Because I've lived through the nightmare of a brutal marriage and I think that Congressman Anthony can do a lot for women whose shoes I walked in. Because I agree with you that his career would probably be ruined if news of your situation became public, which would be a tragedy. Because I think that whenever possible, love should win out over and beyond everything. Because even if I haven't known you a long time; You, Rick, Daryl and Shane are my family…and except for Sophia…I've never had a real one," a flush crept up her face. Her light eyes faintly watered...

"…So my friend, the reason is… _Because_."

"Okay everybody, let's get back to it," Shane mandated in his military trained style, while walking back towards the table. He carried a tray with six bottles of beer and one glass of orange juice.

Michonne reached over and embraced her friend. They held one another for only moments. A friendship born out of secrecy had now been solidified in love. Both women softly sniffled as they tightly held each other.

"Thank you for your friendship, Carol. I feel truly blessed and honored to know you…and to call you family." Michonne said quietly in her friend's ear before releasing the embrace. Carol gave a quick shoulder squeeze and wink before stepping back, "I feel the same."

"Okay people," Shane the Drill Sergeant began, "Now that we have an actual destination, we can make plans for that. Getting there might be a problem though."

"No its not," Merle interjected, "I know y'all only really wanted me for my artistic abilities. And as a witness," he smirked, referring to the tattoo and car accident, "but I do monthly trips to sunny Southern California…"

"You can drive them there," Glenn excitedly interrupted.

"Hold on there, Kimosabe. Aren't you just the little Energizer bunny," Merle said, chuckling at his own witticism, "But Yeah, I _think_ I can."

"Can you check to see if you have trips in March or April?" Rick asked.

"Yep. Pretty sure that I do though," he thought for a second, "and even if I'm not on the schedule, I'll switch with whoever is. No one really likes doin' that long haul. They know I'll do it cuz I like topping' off in Vegas," he smirked. The lasciviousness in his facial expression leaving no question about what was currently on his mind.

Ignoring the obvious and inappropriate expression, "You'll be required to be here for the Coroner's Inquest, which should occur within one week after the accident, and then you should be fine to leave," Glenn informed them all.

"Get one of those trucks that have a cab big enough for four…I'm goin' with y'all. It'll be right after Rick's accident," Shane said; using air quotes around the word accident, "so takin' a week or two off won't raise any red flags." It wasn't a completely altruistic offer. There was a _hot mama_ in Texas that he wasn't averse to looking up as they passed through The Lone Star State.

"Also," Merle plastered a smug grin on his face, "I have an old buddy that owns a club between Orange County and San Diego County. He's always lookin' for honest fellas to do bouncer type stuff. It's cash under the table. Sure he'd love your country ass," his grin widened in the direction of the deputy in question.

Disregarding the last portion of the trucker's words, Rick nodded, "That'll work. Never thought of bein' a bouncer…but I'll take it."

Everyone was quiet. They glanced around at the others. Various sized slips of paper with scribbled notes, reports, and outlines, were strewn across the table. Crickets sang their nighttime songs in the distance. The appliances hummed their existence within the walls of the sealed bar. Quiet breaths were released.

"Sounds like we have a plan."

* * *

x - x - x - x

* * *

The seasoned and tested investigator watched the small group gathered on the other side of the room. A cool breeze wafted through the area. He breathed in the fresh air. The four walls that, only minutes earlier seemed airless, now felt open.

 _First Do No Harm,_ were the words that popped into his head _. Not the creed of an investigator, or a police detective for that matter,_ he let out a quiet breath as he smiled _, but still, Do No Harm Hershel Greene…Investigator Extraordinaire,_ his laugh grew a little louder.

" _What are you gonna do when you get there, Daddy? What do you plan on telling them?" Maggie asked, "And I'm not sure if it's safe for you to go by yourself. We don't know what these people will do when they know they've been found out. If you're right, and I assume that you are, then that means that they're pretty good at pulling off murder…whether it's real or not. You've already given a report to Mrs. Grimes. What's the point?"_

" _I need to look in their faces. I need to understand why they did this. I've never met them, but I don't believe that they would hurt anyone unless they had to." He took note of his daughter's skeptical expression, "It's doubtful that I have many cases left in my future. I'm okay with that because I've done some good work in my time. I have no regrets. This Grimes Anthony case is probably one of my last, and I have to know the truth. It's something that I need to do."_

" _What'll you do once you look in their faces?"_

" _I don't rightly know. When the time comes…I'm sure I will."_

He stood and took a few steps towards the small crowd, "Uh, excuse me, Mr. and Mrs. Stevens," his voice was not loud, but strong enough to rise above the chorus of voices.

Everyone turned to the temporarily forgotten uninvited kindly gumshoe.

"I'm gonna be on my way. Thank you very much for your hospitality," he informed the group - no hidden meaning or agenda implied.

Rick handed Andre to Carol and took his wife's hand. They hastily strode closer to the investigator.

"What happens now?" The former Sheriff's Deputy, current part-time bouncer, asked the older man. He gently caressed his lady loves hand.

"I told you when I got here that I was not here to judge. Truth is that maybe I have judged you all," his eyes drifted away from the couple and scoped the group behind them. They all stared at him with numerous questions in their eyes. Carl was squirming in Sasha's arms while she bounced him on her hip. Andre was playing with a little toy in Carol's arms; no longer interested in the adult shenanigans.

"I came here...maybe more to satisfy the desire I had to know that I was right, than anything else. I think its human nature. The need to prove you're right," he chuckled to himself, "I didn't have a plan when I walked through your front door. I didn't know what I'd find. Who I'd find. But, after meeting both of your exes, seeing the kind of people they are...good folks, both of 'em. Suppose I just needed to know."

"You said that you judged us," Michonne began, "What do you mean? What was your judgment?" The former attorney inquired.

Hershel's light eyes softened while he looked into her face, "Mrs. Stevens, it is my judgment that no good can come from my passing this information on to the authorities. Or anyone else for that matter," he chuckled for a few short seconds, "while I was watching you and your family, the only thing I could think was, 'First do no harm.' It's not actually my mantra, but maybe it should be. I think that if we all started each day with those thoughts in mind, this would be a better and more compassionate world..."

His eyes drifted over to both toddlers being held by their aunts.

"...I don't believe that there is anyone that would benefit from knowing that Rick Grimes and Michonne Anthony faked their deaths. Not only would it ruin careers," he glanced quickly at those in the room, and then back to the woman in front of him," but it would undoubtedly ruin the lives of those you left behind. With the exception of the poor deer that got injured, I don't see a lot of collateral damage here."

"We hated havin' to break that deer's legs," Shane confessed.

"We did it carefully though," the somewhat sorrowful Dr. Rhee added, "It wasn't brutal or barbaric. I put him under anesthesia and even gave him medication so he wouldn't feel the pain as much." Hurting the deer caused them enormous amounts of guilt – nearly as much as planning and flawlessly executing of a slew of felonies.

"I have no doubt Dr. Rhee," Hershel nodded, "I don't see a group of sadists or heartless individuals in front of me..." He looked back into the faces of both Rick and Michonne.

"...What I see are people who put their livelihoods and their freedom on the line for their friends...uh, excuse me, for their family…and a couple who gave up everything for love. Those aren't the kinds of people that would brutally injure animals. Of that I'm certain."

"We ain't," Daryl exclaimed quietly; an affirmation to himself as his eyes landed on a fidgeting Carl.

"That's my judgment," the retired detective said, "My judgment is to do no harm. Do no harm to you or to the people you left behind. I don't believe that you deserve it, and I'm certain that they don't." There was a subtle amount of _opinion_ in his final words.

"How...how are they?" Michonne asked; a measured amount of emotion welling in her voice.

Rick was understanding when it came to his wife's inability to completely walk away from her past life. Carol kept her informed about what was going on with Michael Anthony's campaign. However, she really didn't know much more than what was in the papers and online. He was very popular with his constituents and a shoe in to win his upcoming reelection. Sasha knew him on a personal level, but always felt too guilty to call him – she hated to pretend. Michonne rarely asked.

"Congressman Anthony is doing very well. It looks like he'll be getting married soon. I believe that he's happy. He's a good man. You seem to be pretty adept at choosing good men."

The ex Mrs. Anthony's eyes quickly welled with years. She released Rick's hand and wiped her face.

"I'm so happy for him," her voice was low, "you may not believe me...but I always loved Mike. I always will. We were good friends once upon a time. I've always wanted him to be happy. I just don't believe that happiness was ever meant to be with me...or mines was ever meant..." she took a deep breath and the flood of tears, the release of joy and pain and relief that she'd been holding for nearly two years, poured down her face.

"I want him to be happy," she whimpered, turning to face her husband, "It's only f-fair."

Rick rubbed her back, "It is…it's the right thing. Don't cry sweetheart," he implored. She bowed her head and lightly sobbed into her hands.

"Daryl grabbed the box of facial tissues sitting near the end table walked to his friend; handing her a tissue. She took the offering and wiped her face.

"I don't mean to blubber," she said through bubbling sentiment as all eyes watched her, "I'm just so thankful to know that he's okay. I can finally move on without always feeling so guilty."

"You can young lady," Hershel assured the emotional woman baring herself before him, "he misses you, but he's fine."

"Th-thank you," she mumbled through the deluge of unwavering emotion. Rick stroked her arm and kissed the back of her hand as she wiped her face.

" _No_ …Mama...mama..." Carl's squirming turned verbal when he saw his mother crying. Sasha held him tighter as he attempted to jump from her arms. His frustration at not being able to use his new walking skills to go to his mother was visibly evident. His personality was an even blend of the uncompromisingly determined nature of both his parents. Sasha could barely keep him in her arms.

"Mama…" he repeated.

Carl's piercing cry caught the attention of the younger twin. Andre looked up from his exceedingly important toy truck. He glanced at his brother as the wail picked up steam. Following his brother's line of sight his eyes landed on his mother as she gingerly wept.

"Ma-ma," he cried, sucking his bottom lip into his mouth like his mother did when she pouted. His arms outstretched in the direction of his parents; squirming to be released from Carol's strong grip.

"Let's take them into the bedroom, Carol," Sasha said. Carol nodded as the boys continued to call for their mother.

"Your mama's okay," the silver haired Auntie assured the fretful toddler, and then kissed his temple, "C'mon cutie-patootie, let's go to your room and watch your favorite movie."

The two women, along with Sophia, padded pass the couple and headed down the short hall towards the bedrooms. They heard the door close and the wails slowly dissipate.

The investigator looked back at the expectant couple.

"Uh," Rick began once his wife was again calm, and her breathing back to normal.

"Mrs. Grimes is fine, too." Hershel anticipated the query which was obviously not an easy one for the man standing there, consoling his new wife, to ask. The investigator, who was also a husband, let him off the hook by answering the unasked question.

Shane did sporadic checks on Lori. He got most of his information from her parents because he hated lying to her face. He accepted the burden when he had to; believing that it was the penance he should rightly pay for his role in the ongoing deception.

Guilt over the deception was bore by more than just the couple who were presumed dead. The culpability was spread out like a blanket that covered them all. Watching the growing boys when they had their get-together's was the closest they all came to finding peace within the guilt.

"I met with her a few weeks ago to update her on my progress regarding this case. I informed her that all of the evidence we reviewed left no doubt that you and Mrs. Anthony were killed in the accident. She has no reason to believe that my words were not the absolute truth."

"It's my belief that she will now move on with her life. She has a man that she's involved with. Maybe now she'll open herself up to him - allow herself to have a life."

Rick watched the investigator as he spoke. He rubbed his wife's back. He listened to the soft murmurs of the other men in the room. His thoughts drifted back to the years of marriage he'd had with her. There were some good times. _I hope that God will someday forgive me for what I did. Maybe one day I will,_ he undetectably ground his jaw.

He rarely spoke of Lori, just as Michonne rarely spoke of Mike. But of the two, Michonne was always more willing to speak of her husband of her first husband. He, however, refrained from mentioning his first wife.

Before Lori, he'd had other girlfriends. The one thing that he'd learned through the years was that no woman likes hearing about another woman. They _absolutely_ don't want to know that you're thinking about another woman. He was pretty sure his his overly caring wife would understand, but now didn't seem like the right time to test that theory. So he kept most of his thoughts to himself.

"She's gonna be just fine," Hershel assured the ex-Sheriff's Deputy.

 _Thank God. I'm really happy for you Lori_. _I hope he makes you happy and treats you good._ _You should have all the happiness that you can find. I did_. He could feel warmth rise in his face, his eyes turned red. He nodded his appreciation at the information; acknowledging that he'd heard without speaking. The unspoken _Man Rule_ was clearly understood by the older man. Hershel returned the nod with his own.

"…And you can relax," Hershel said softly; directly to the woman who would forever more be Melody Stevens, "No one is coming."

He stepped closer to the couple and reached for the woman of the houses hand as she wiped away remnants of emotion. She took his hand.

"You have beautiful children," he continued, "It's a crime for you not to have their pictures on every wall in your home…and your parents should be up there with them."

He squeezed her hand, "Take care of yourself and your family."

"Won't you stay for some cake?" She kept his hand in hers, "Carol makes the best chocolate cake you'll ever taste. The boys turned a year old a couple of months ago. We waited until everyone could be here before we had their party."

"I appreciate the offer, but I'm gonna get these old bones back to the hotel so I can get ready to head back home."

"Are you sure?" Rick asked, "You're more than welcome to stay."

"Thank you. But I'm sure…" he surveyed the room. Balloons floated imperceptibly near the ceiling. Toys that he hadn't noticed before lay forgotten in every corner of the room. Playing cards from a defunct game were sitting on the coffee table. Crumpled wrapping paper and discarded paper plates were collected and stuffed into a large black garbage bag that sat at the end of the same table.

"…This is family time. So, I'll leave you to it," he released the expectant moms hand and turned towards the front of the house. Michonne and Rick walked him to the door while the men in the room watched.

"Love each other. _Really_ love and respect one another. At the end of every long and short day…it's worth more than everything."

With that, the Georgia Septuagenarian crossed the threshold of the cozy house on Walker Ln., and strolled back into the extremely warm Southern California day. He smiled at the thought of the little rainbow family that he knew he would never see again.

* * *

x - x - x - x

* * *

 _One year later_

The day was heating up. Even with the air conditioner doing its job, there was no denying the heat. Over the past few months the steadfast investigator had cut back on his time on the streets. Pounding the pavement was a young man's, or woman's, chore.

Noah was taking a more active role in the day-to-day goings on with the agency. Maggie was taking the lead on the new cases.

He had retired from the police department ten years ago. With not much of a break, he'd gone straight into being a private investigator; nearly eleven years now. Anette had been trying to convince him to retire yet again. This wouldn't be the forced retirement he'd been subjected to when he left the Atlanta Police Department. This would be his choice. He really did like the sound of that.

 _I'm seventy-two years old. It's probably time to step back and let the young'ins run this place,_ he smiled at the thought. There were a few things he had on his bucket list and he couldn't accomplish them if he continued working.

"Hey daddy," Beth said, opening his door and walking into his office with the days mail in her hand, "here's the mail. I'm gonna head out with Travis…unless you need me for somethin'. Maggie and Noah said they'd be in later," she informed him.

 _Such a little beauty_ , his thought bringing a huge smile to his face as he looked at his youngest child, "I don't need anything sweetheart. I'll be heading out shortly. Have fun with your little friend," he got a huge kick out of chiding his daughter about her boyfriend.

"Very funny," the blonde millennial rolled her eyes as she placed the mail on the desk in front of him. She walked around to the other side of the desk and gave him a quick peck on the cheek. "See ya' later."

The twenty-something, part-time receptionist extraordinaire, always went through the mail before passing it along to her bosses; weeding out any bills, flyers, credit card offers and requests for assistance.

There were only a few pieces of correspondence. Sitting between the standard envelope sized letters was an envelope that immediately caught his attention. _This is some kind of card. Maybe invitation. Surprised Bethy didn't open it_. He picked up the square envelope. The addressee label was printed. There was no return address. He rifled through his desk for the letter opener.

A wallet sized photo fell out of the card once he removed it from the envelope. The lovely cursive writing on the inside of the card simply said, _Thank you for your kindness_. He smiled. There was no doubt in his mind who the card was from.

He picked up the photo. There were three children. He recognized the two little boys right away. He'd briefly met them a year earlier, _Carl_ and _Andre_. They were older but looked exactly the same. Nestled between them was a small girl. Her complexion was darker than her brothers, _like_ _creamy_ _mocha_. The little curly haired beauty had her mother's nose, and eyes identical to her father's.

Hershel's eyes sparkled as he regarded the small picture in his hand. His mind drifted back to his brief time in the Stevens home. He smiled and slid the small photograph into his breast pocket – tapping it a couple of times. He stood and headed for the door. It was sure to be a scorcher of a day.

The Greene Investigation of the Grimes/Anthony accident is now closed.

* * *

A/N: Thank you so very much for taking the time to read my little detective story. I'm truly appreciative. Please let me know what you thought of the chapter and the story as a whole. God Bless :-)


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